Well… It’s a kids’ film, isn’t it? It’s weird how all the frothing reviews seem to have missed that out. The characters, script and story have been ripped straight out of the Disney playbook circa Pocahontas, albeit with Cameron’s massive hard-on for science and military hardware thrown in. The precious resource everyone’s fighting over is called…Unobtainium? Come on. I heard that this is actually a term used by NASA when referring to metals capable of space travel, but that doesn’t make it any less retarded. That said, the film is an enjoyable ride, complete with eye-humping battle scenes, a fascinating setting (populated by awesome and surprisingly evolutionally credible creatures) and above all, elegantly implemented 3-D that elevates it from the gimmicky fad it was in the horror movies of the 80s into a legitimate cinematic technique, albeit one that leaves you feeling like a rhino has crapped in your eyes and brain by the end of the movie.

So, as much as I wanted to deride Cameron’s claims that Avatar would be a game changer, I have to admit it is. It’s brought 3-D into the consciousness of the mainstream beyond 15-25 year-old male masturbators. And while we’ve had 3-D versions of a fair number of (mostly animated) movies over the last couple of years, the numbers are going to rise (along with a predictable drop in quality – most filmmakers don’t have several hundred million dollars and the best part of a decade to make their movies) as Hollywood seeks to cash in on a trend that, for the moment, will be a useful tool in peeling people off their sofas and herding them into the cinema.

For a movie like Avatar, 3-D is a perfect fit. It makes FX-driven movies that much more of a spectacle. But it’s hardly a technology that can be whitewashed over movies as a whole. For 90 per cent of films, 3-D would add absolutely nothing other than a light headache. After all, as much as lazy hack directors might wish otherwise, adding depth perception does nothing at all to enhance character, plot, dialogue, or any other conventional traits of a good film. It’s a sheen; a multi-million dollar coat of paint. It couldn’t hide Avatar’s flaws, and it won’t hide the shortcomings of movies that are badly written, directed or performed. But it’ll take a good couple of years for the penny to drop in Hollywood, so expect to see the release of umpteen desperate cash-ins before the bigwigs realise that the heart of a movie still lies with a little dude/dudette tapping out a script at a crummy desk. Or in Starbucks if they’re an overcompensating shitbag.  

Then there’s the 3-D gaming debate. Avatar was inevitably accompanied by Avatar: The Game, which attempted to tart up mediocre gameplay with snazzy 3-D graphics which you could only see if you were willing to remortgage your home and children to buy a compatible TV. In any case, 3-D visuals are, at the moment, an irrelevance to gaming. Business-types often forget that cinema and gaming are very different media. 3-D gaming, I believe, means something completely different than 3-D movies. Games went 3-D in the mainstream the moment the Nintendo Wii was released, because it represented the first step in 3-D interactivity.

Clearly, watching a movie is a passive experience, for which the third dimension must be breached visually. But games are interactive, and that’s the path that developers should take when implementing the concept of 3-D. Because who cares if you can see your game pop out from the TV when you can physically play tennis with it, or punch its face in during a boxing match, or have a genuine verbal conversation with an in-game character? That’s where gaming’s 3-D potential lies. The Wii started the revolution, and now with Microsoft’s Natal and Sony’s thoroughly gay super waggle wand, other companies are taking the idea forward. With Natal, confirmed for release towards the end of 2010, a camera tracks player movement 30 times per second, allowing gamers to physically interact with their games without ever picking up a controller.

 So, our 3-D future starts here. Whether for gaming or for movies, it’s a technology that has the potential to bring out the very best and the very worst of our evolving media. Now that the trend is taking off in earnest, we’re obviously heading into the growing pains period, so we’ll undoubtedly see some clumsy implementation. But when the day comes when you can slap Jeremy Kyle in the face on your Xbox, you’ll know we’ve made it. The future has arrived.

A note on house style: I prefer 3-D over 3D, mostly because the former resembles a giant cannon firing a laser into someone’s butt.

Louis CK turns Chris Lo into Chris LOL

Louis CK, Bloomsbury Theatre, November 13

Stand-up comedy might just be the ultimate popular American art form. I use the word ‘popular’ because that allows me to neatly sidestep jazz, which is definitely art, but certainly isn’t popular. Nobody actually likes jazz, do they? They just like the idea of liking jazz. Yeah, I went there. Suck it, Mingus.

It’s true that British stand-ups like Billy Connolly, Eddie Izzard and Lee Evans can stand tall in the weird, malformed line-up of legendary live comedians. But no other country has quite the same heritage as the US, from Lenny Bruce in the early ‘60s to Richard Pryor and George Carlin in the ‘70s to Bill Hicks to Chris Rock to Dave Chappelle to Sarah Silverman in a long, steadily-evolving line of funny. Maybe it’s North America’s isolation as a continent; maybe it’s that stereotype of American bullishness. Whatever the case, the Americans sure know how to stand up in a packed room and shout an audience to its knees.

Louis CK absolutely deserves his place in that pantheon of American stand-ups. He’s been touring the US comedy circuit for two decades, filling the gaps with writing and acting for TV and films. If you’ve seen him anywhere this year, you’ll have seen him in Ricky Gervais’ mostly underwhelming directorial debut The Invention of Lying. His acting career has been peppered with cancelled shows and movie flops, but maybe it’s better that way. CK clearly shines brightest from a stage with a mic in his hand.

Tonight, the Bloomsbury’s filled to bursting with fans (including Steve Merchant – glad he wasn’t sitting in front of me) expecting a dose of CK’s winning blend of traditional observational comedy and foul-mouthed commentary. If the man is exhausted from his schedule (or the first gig he played at the Bloomsbury just before our late set), he doesn’t show it. The audience is firmly in stitches for the duration.

Content-wise, there’s nothing new here, CK visiting such well-cropped comedy pastures as air travel, fatherhood and dating. But what makes him such a compelling performer is his ability to take these comedy tropes and rejuvenate them, either with sly subversion or some deft wordplay. His descriptions, like that of the middle-class urbanite who doesn’t speak but somehow “secretes words out of his head”, are dead-on. Just as the audience is lulled into a sense of familiarity with a bit about CK volunteering to help supervise lunch at his daughter’s elementary school, he provokes shocked hysterics by calmly noting that in the event of a fire he’d happily trample other children to save his own.

The benign glint in CK’s eye ensures that this isn’t a Frankie Boyle-esque aggressive comedy barrage. He’s toying with the audience’s expectations, tempering pessimism with playfulness while still giving the material enough edge to draw gasps now and then. The word that springs to mind when watching Louis CK is ‘craftsman’. He’s had 20 years to hone his craft, and he’s seen enough audiences to be able to read us like a book. After all, as any comedy craftsman knows, it’s not about the material. It’s about the delivery.

Louis CK’s stand-up DVD, Chewed Up, is available now

But don’t worry, the London Weekly is different. Instead of employing loads of those lazy professional writers, 30 per cent of the newspaper’s content will be generated by readers. After all, who needs nice words and pretty pictures when you’ve got Joe J Johnson from Hackney ranting about his local roadworks with accompanying snaps from his mobile?

Content will be drawn from “entertainment, light politics, music [and] sports”. Sounds fairly identical to the editorial offered by London Lite and the London Paper, which both recently closed shop, so it’s unclear what the paper will be able to do differently to avoid the same fate.

So in conclusion: a new freesheet - good news for people who like their politics light, bad news for street cleaners. And trees.

(Source: The Guardian)

Do you hate having to leave the heated sanctuary of your home to experience London’s most famous landmarks? Good news, troglodytes! Google has swept down from on high to save us all from the tyranny of outdoor activities.

As of yesterday, web surfers will be able to run amok amidst the world’s largest collection of living plants at the Royal Botanical Gardens in Kew, using the just-launched Google Street View of the site. The web giant sent its photo-trike around the Gardens and spent months stitching the photographs together to create a 360-degree tour.

Mike Saunders told the Evening Standard: ”Google actually only spent an hour and a half here, but luckily it was a very nice day, so the gardens look amazing – you can see bluebells, palm trees and everything is blossoming. We think the service will be invaluable for people planning a visit as you can get a real sense of what we have here.”

Kew Gardens is one of a host of British attractions that has recently been scanned by Google’s vigilant digi-eyes, including Stonehenge, Warwick Castle and the Angel of the North.

Check out the immaculately photographed Gardens here. But do stuff in real life too; that can be fun when it’s not raining.

Geeks have a tougher dilemma than most, as their bubbles contain immaculately catalogued stacks of precious materials, and it’s inevitably taken ages to arrange just right. What if your potential mate blunders into your bubble and knocks over your painstakingly collected Age of Apocalypse paperbacks, or unwittingly deletes your Final Fantasy save file? Worse still, what if they laugh at you? It’s a minefield. Except the mines are crammed with mockery and the shrapnel’s made out of red hot shards of humiliation.

Of course, once you’ve found a bubble buddy who doesn’t mind the clutter, and actually finds all those pictures you drew of Legolas kind of endearing, a whole new game begins. It’s called How To Get Your Partner Interested In Your Nerdy Pastimes, and it’s a game of honour and diplomacy (just like Bat Fight). It’s a cat-and-mouse affair, where you will have to convince your loved one to throw caution to the wind and turn your single-player existence into a co-op love-in. I’m no more than an intermediate player, but as a card-carrying geek who has managed to retain (without the use of shackles or chloroform) a distinctly non-geeky girlfriend for the last five years or so, I feel qualified to kick out some beginners’ tips.

Keeping score – it’s big and it’s clever

Saving money is boring, but open up a Lady Points or Jock Points savings account, and you’ll be surprised at the rewards. For guys, this means happily sitting through another double-bill of Sex And The City and doing your very best not to make snarky comments whenever one of the characters says something ludicrously shallow or egotistical. Which is much harder than it seems. For girls, it means watching the rugby or putting up with an hour of French cricket in the back garden, or whatever it is that normal males enjoy doing. This sustained agreeableness will bleed into your partner’s subconscious, making it much easier to persuade them to jump on board with your proposed Japanese horror marathon. Take advantage of birthdays, too. If your loved one tells you that today is all about you, the runway’s clear and you’ve got the green light to hijack the day.

Be economical with the truth

A tactic to be used sparingly and with restraint. If you’ve got a gut feeling (wishful thinking doesn’t count) that your partner is going to like a movie that they’re initially hesitant to commit to, it’s time to get creative. It’s not about lying, it’s about emphasising the parts of the movie to which they’ll respond. So, with Iron Giant, up-sell the heart-warming journey of self-discovery, downplay the giant robot from outer space. With Let The Right One In, up-sell the unfurling of a young romance like a delicate winter rose, downplay the decapitations and burning corpses. If your gut feeling is right, they’ll forgive you the deception. There’s a limit though – if you lead your girlfriend into Switchblade Romance under the pretence that it’s a charming rom-com set in rural France, the game will probably be up when that guy’s head gets crushed by a bookcase about five minutes in.

Comic strips, aka the gateway drug

If you want to get your girlfriend into comic books and graphic novels, don’t just wave a 500-page copy of Watchmen in her face and babble about sub-plots, superhero revisionism and the inherent fascism of Nietzsche’s Overman. That’s an awesome conversation, but you can’t have it yet. The format of comics can be pretty intimidating for people who haven’t grown up fawning over them, and comic strips are an ideal entry point, given that they present stories or moments in manageable chunks, and usually have a simple and instantly engaging art style. I’ve yet to meet anyone who hasn’t been taken in with the homespun wit of Peanuts or Calvin & Hobbes’ precocious escapism. And Simone Lia’s Fluffy gets points for frankly absurd levels of cuteness. Strategically place comic strips in the crapper, so she’s forced to read them when there’s nothing else to do. Remove all other books if necessary. Thus, through the ruthless elimination of all other creative outlets, the embryonic comic book aficionado is slowly nurtured.

Still, the year has yielded a bumper crop of great summer songs. Allow us to present to you the tracks that have been sprinkling a little heat into our mostly grey days. Then we can put them all together and have a classic summer barbecue. In our minds.

1/ Artist: A Scholar and a Physician
Track: ‘She’s a Witch’ (Brainlove)

Sell it to me: It’s POPTASTIC! No, stay with me. Srsly. It’s lo-fi fun pop played on made-up instruments by two geeky boys and a girl so cool she’s clearly been drafted in. It has WOOSHES and shouty bits and what sounds like a Casio demo track playing in the background. It will make you want to jump around. Promise.

It’s lyrically AMAZING! “She wears fantastic belts, when she gets wet she melts” (something about flying monkeys, something, something else, cut to chorus), “She’s a witch, she’s a witch, she’s so good at quidditch…She’s in league with Satan”. We’ve all thought it. These boys just said it. They dared to say it.

The VIDEO! It looks like it was made by a hyperactive five year old who’s been left alone with the Kia-Ora, and is therefore top skills. Stick that up your Strawberry Swing, Coldplay.

The STYLING! There clearly isn’t any, apart from sweetly matching, knitted jumpers. This is 4 real, yeah? And we bloody love it.

Georgina Terry

Where can I hear this? You can buy it from iTunes and Amazon.

Okay, I’m in. What now? They’re an elusive lot, but keep your eyes on their MySpace for details of gigs.

2/ Artist: Lime-Headed Dog
Track: ‘Lorenzo’ (Volcano Attack)

Sell it to me: Championed by underground darling-of-the-moment Micachu, Lime-Headed Dog sound like an android bull rampaging through Mark E. Smith’s made-of-china record shop.

It’s a vast departure for maestro Joel Cox, the onetime bassist of indie-pop sweethearts Good Shoes. Out go the jangly guitars and chart-chasing choruses and in come break-beats, electro squalls and some dark, demented lyrics.

Live it’s a violent cacophony of samples, steel drums, violins, flutes and Cox’s acrobatic vocals. But on record, the abrasive experimentalism falls away and Lime-Headed Dog’s ear for a stellar hook shines through their avant-garde exterior.

‘Lorenzo’ here shows that they can be as wonderful as they can be weird.

Gerald Lynch

Where can I hear this? Check out Lime-Headed Dog’s MySpace to stream ‘Lorenzo’, as well as a selection of the aforementioned live mentalism.

Okay, I’m in. What now? New album Kfum & Kfuk is out now – you can only buy it from www.limeheadeddog.blogspot.com, so you’ll feel proper special if you do. You can catch them live, if you’re quick, playing at Shunt in London Bridge on September 4.

3/Artist: BBU
Track: ‘Chi Don’t Dance’ (Self-released)

Sell it to me: Chicago has always punched well above its weight in producing massive breakout hip hop stars over the last decade. Chi Town upstarts BBU (aka Bin Laden Blowin’ Up, aka Black, Brown and Ugly) aren’t likely to follow Kanye and Lupe into the stratosphere any time soon, however. Too much fire for the mainstream. Too much politicking for the party scene. What they are doing is carving themselves a solid niche in astute wordplay set to fluid beats. And whilst Dead Prez-style global issues are at the forefront, BBU’s thoughts rarely stray too far from their hometown, with frequent shout-outs to local neighbourhoods (side note: BBU = epic twitterers. Sample tweet: “YOU – An Undeniable Asshole/ Us – A rap group on a mission to save rap!!!”).

‘Chi Don’t Dance’ sees the trio let their hair down a little; at least enough to craft a true club banger, just in time for the sun to come out and warm up our dancing feet. The central beat is elegant and supple; thoughtful enough for the indie shoegazers and rhythmic enough for the dance-heads. And it all coalesces into a communal shout-along that must sound truly epic when heard reverberating around Chicago’s clubs, magnified by choirs of hundreds. So maybe we won’t be hearing BBU blaring out on Radio 1 over breakfast of a morn, and maybe it’s better that way. The future’s local, and every city should have a BBU; people from your neighbourhood who understand you, and know how to make you dance. Or juke, or percolate, or whatever works for you.

Chris Lo

Where can I hear this? Listen to ‘Chi Don’t Dance’ and others at the BBU MySpace.

Okay, I’m in. What now? Who knows? Keep an ear to the grindstone and pray for a full-length to make its way to these rainy shores.

4/Artist: Jay Reatard
Track: ‘It Ain’t Gonna Save Me’ (Matador)

Sell it to me: In a recent interview, a somewhat clueless French interviewer put it to Jay Reatard (aka Jay Lindsey) that he was very angry when up on stage. At this suggestion he rubbed his brow and, shrugging off his growing irritation, replied that no, he is very happy when on stage. This exchange typifies a widespread misunderstanding about the nature of punk music. Sure it’s loud and aggressive and the subject matter usually revolves around things that are lame and piss you off, but these are songs to make you feel good! At the core of every great punk song lie all the elements that make a great pop song too.

Jay’s new single ‘It Ain’t Gonna Save Me’, (the first off of his debut album for Matador, Watch Me Fall) is a masterclass in how to craft a catchy and energetic punk song, immediately bursting from the speakers on a jangle-pop guitar line, hand-clap rhythm and summerific vocal melody. The lyrics might be about getting sucked into a lonely abyss of negativity, but just try and stop yourself smiling whilst humming along to the ‘All is lost/ there is no hope for me’ refrain as you trip on down a sunny street. I dare you. Flush Blink-182 out of your ears forever; this is the true face of pop punk!

Tim Hobbs

Where can I hear this? Listen to the song and watch the totally awesome massive-free-for-all-at-a-kids-birthday-bash video (not a metaphor) at Jay’s MySpace page.

Okay, I’m in. What now? Well, Watch Me Fall has just come out, but make sure you check out Jay’s consistently brilliant back catalogue, both pre- and post-major label signing. Blood Visions or either of his singles compilations will drastically improve the sweetness of any summer party, or your money back. Also, catch Mr Reatard exploding the Camden Underworld on November 13.

5/ Artist: Mew
Track: ‘Beach’ (Sony BMG)

Sell it to me: Another summer in London, a swelter here, a downpour there and a dozen good-willed Time Outs unread on my floor as September crawls in with shame on its face, just as Danish pop/prog-rockers Mew come bounding along with one more chance for hope. The jaunty ‘Beach’ from their ludicrously lengthily titled new album is a lovely, ethereal, summeringly haunting piece of Scandinavian frozen fairy pop, a glove-handed bass line that lures you in like a lascivious uncle with a spittled leer, jingly burstingly happy guitars and breathy vocals, synths and harmonies from heaven, clattering beats as Brian Wilson fiddles with the Cocteau Twins. I wonder if summer in Copenhagen is this nice? Probably not, I was refused entrance to a whorehouse when I was there.

Rick Senley

Where can I hear this? On MySpace, clearly; a page which also affords you the opportunity to read the full title of Mew’s new album. It’s long, and it might make you sad.

Okay, I’m in. What now? Buy new album; hear new album played live into your ears and face at Shepherd’s Bush Empire on November 10.

6/ Artist: Invasion
Track: ‘Behind the Black Gate’ (Run For Your Life/This Is Music)

Sell it to me: Invasion make music as intriguingly familiar as it is excitingly new. Fusing elements of stoner, psych and good old-fashioned heavy metal, the trio are a breath of fresh air in a metal scene too reliant on latching onto sub-genres and flogging them to death. New track ‘Behind the Black Gate’ is as good an example of their revitalising take on traditional metal as anything they have produced thus far. Even ‘Three Gold Dragons’, the highlight from the terrific Moongazer EP, is at risk of losing its throne as the classic Invasion anthem. It is even more impressive that ‘Behind the Black Gate’ is a B-side, the band clearly confident enough in their highly anticipated debut album to tack such a blinding track onto a single. The thrashing 80s opening builds up to a head-banging psychedelic rock out. Vocalist Chan’s unique voice is drenched in delay and by the time the doom rears it ugly head, Invasion have in under three minutes raced through multiple forms of equally arresting genres, stitched convincingly together thanks to the tight interplay between guitar and drums. A thrilling collision of decades-spanning influence, tweaked to perfection.

Dan Morgan

Where can I hear this? On Invasion’s MySpace. You can also decide whether you prefer ‘Six Red Wizards’ or ‘Three Gold Dragons’. Numerically, the wizards seem to have it, but don’t count the dragons out just yet…

Okay, I’m in. What now? Invasion’s debut album The Master Alchemist is due out on October 5. The band play London a lot so you’ve no excuse to miss them! Visit the band’s MySpace to keep tabs on their touring schedule.

7/ Artist: Neon Indian
Track: ‘Deadbeat Summer’ (Lefse)

Fi, it seems, is out of fashion. The less fi you have, the cooler you are. Lo-fi is cool. No-fi is cool beans. Music made in a studio, after all, implies a level of effort that makes 2009’s trendsetters twitchy and uncomfortable. When has effort ever been cool? What self-respecting scenester would want to spend all that time cramming fi into their music when they can just turn up the fuzz on the amp in their bedroom and add rhythm by recording the muffled thump of their head smacking against the wall?

Problem is, it takes a hell of a lot of work to make lo-fi sound that effortless. Neon Indian’s ‘Deadbeat Summer’ lazily evokes the sun-streaked haze of a stoned adolescence. Beaches, boards and the hesitant first contact of teenage fingers and lips roll off that delicious confection of a guitar line as naturally as a warm breeze. The synths bend and crackle like they’re being transmitted via an old, sun-warped cassette, coiling languidly around the fuzzed-out drumbeat. Effortless. So effortless in fact, that the listener suspects a thoroughly uncool amount of hard graft went into this.

Chris Lo

Where can I hear this? Neon Indian’s MySpace page has most of the tracks that have hit the webs so far.

Okay, I’m in. What now? According to MySpace, we’ll have a debut LP on October 13.

Wrong. I’m a petty, small, aching ball bag of a man, so I’m just going to bitch and moan about it. It’s just that the article, written by novelist Malorie Blackman, perpetuates the biggest misconception about the comic book medium in the very process of celebrating it. I refer, of course, to the utter fallacy that comic books, no matter how intricate, are pretty pictures and speech bubbles and BIFF! POK! BLAMMO!-type entertainment, created to enthrall minors, as well as adults who are short a chromosome or two and haven’t graduated to [sneer] actual literature.

Click here to give the article a look-see. Oh, it’s cool, I’ll wait.

Done? Okay. So as you now know, the piece is written by an author who specifically writes for children and young people, and purports to be a list of graphic novels that would appeal to teenagers. Now, lemme be really clear – I have absolutely no problem with this concept in principle. After all, it’s a natural and healthy objective for a writer to try and introduce her young readership to a medium many might not be familiar with (beyond the X-Men and Batman, at least). The article is written enthusiastically and well, with a genuine desire to promote some of the best graphic novels ever written.

So far, so good, and you’re probably thinking, “Put your magical +2 broadsword away, you chippy little nerdface…” To you I say no, I will NOT put my magical broadsword away. It has been unsheathed because I still have a point to make (also: it gives me a +2 strength bonus, guy. Clearly you have very little Dungeons & Dragons experience).

Okay, my point, finally: the list is clearly just a bunch of graphic novels which Blackman has enjoyed. As an adult. With a full complement of chromosomes. There is very little attention paid in the piece to whether the selected graphic novels will resonate with teenagers in particular. In fact, Blackman makes so few references to teenagers in the article (she introduces the list as “some of the graphic novels that have made an impression on me”. Remember; Blackman = adult) that I suspect that some Guardian sub-editor, either assuming that graphic novels are for teenagers by default or that Blackman would only recommend books to young people, tossed in the teenage angle after the fact. Blackman even repeatedly emphasizes that she recommends Ennis and Burrows’ Chronicles of Wormwood for mature readers (quote: “And I mean mature!”).

So why wasn’t the article labeled as “top 10 graphic novels that will rock your world, regardless of age or chromosome count”? The likes of Watchmen, V For Vendetta and Maus, included in the list, are all bona fide monoliths of modern literature; challenging, often heart-rending, stuffed to the gills with allegory. To include them in a list entitled “top graphic novels for teenagers” risks marginalizing these as books just for children.

A good list of graphic novels that would particularly appeal to teenagers could easily exist; it’s just that this isn’t it. Granted, Persepolis and Black Hole, which Blackman has included, are both spot-on. Persepolis specifically addresses the trials and tribulations of maturing in an oppressive, totalitarian environment (post-revolutionary Iran, in this case, but most kids probably feel the same way about their own living rooms), and Black Hole is a creepy body horror story that eerily mirrors and exaggerates the teenage process of sexual awakening.

But where’s Blankets, Craig Thompson’s autobiographical tale of an adolescence in rural Wisconsin, and the faltering steps that lead to fragile, crystalline first love and the nigh-inevitable heartbreak that follows? Where’s Wanted, the ultraviolent take on the superhero genre, in which writer Mark Millar focuses on the consequence-free villainy of an international cadre of super-criminals? That one’s got teenage catharsis written all over it.

It’s not that a graphic novel can’t be a great read for teenagers and adults. I would recommend Blankets to anyone with a heart, half a brain and functioning tear ducts. It’s just that if you’re going to run a list of graphic novels for young people, you better give the reasons why the included books will engage with that demographic. Otherwise, you risk implying to the casual reader that all graphic novels are for teenagers, and only teenagers. Patting the medium on the back is all well and good, but let’s not unwittingly shove it back out to the cultural fringes in the process.

And sport just serves to highlight our tragic physical inadequacies. It’s our latent mal-coordination forced up on to a stage to stand shivering, like a naked orphan, under the spotlight. Whenever we kick a ball, it seems to be magnetically attracted to the railroad tracks on the other side of the fence. Whenever a ball is kicked towards us, it zips unerringly towards our balls.

A few choice highlights from my sporting showreel aptly illustrate my personal relationship with sport (as told by the narrator from The Wonder Years):

Memory One: Age – six (?). Chris participates in a football game against a rival primary school called Squirrels (that’s how Chris remembers it, although that seems like a retarded name for a primary school thinking about it now). He is playing in defence (typical). He watches the team’s goalkeeper impossibly knee himself in the face whilst trying to do a goal kick. The goalie is concussed, and Chris is sent off for a time out because he can’t stop laughing, even after being forcefully shaken by the referee. The team proceeds to lose the game about forty-nil, possibly because they never think to replace the goalie. That was their only game of the season.

Memory Two: Age – 11. Chris tells his dad he’s quitting rugby to join “hobby club”. He watches the glint of paternal love die in his father’s eyes, as if God is whispering in papa’s ear: “Well, this has all gone to shit, hasn’t it?” In this case, Chris imagines God to be a really smug muscle-bound rugby player, like in that episode of Friends. In fact, that is how he will imagine God from now on, because it seems right.

Memory Three: Age – 14. New school, rugby now compulsory. Chris decides that instead of wearing those tiny little rugby shorts that look like they’re made out of Kevlar, he’ll wear his nice comfy tracksuit bottoms. During training he attempts to do what he understands is called a “tackle”. Chris’s intended victim, uncharitably, ignores the fact that his arms are wrapped around his knees and doesn’t even slow down. Momentum causes his nice comfy tracksuit bottoms to slide down to his ankles as he is dragged across the field. Unconfirmed rumours suggest that if you find that same rugby pitch, you can still see the last shred of Chris’s dignity, laid out like a dead puppy on the damp turf.

And that about sums it up. I imagine that any true geek has an equally embarrassing collection of crushing sporting misfires crammed into a musty corner of their sub-conscious. If you’re a geek and you don’t, it just means your humiliation was so exquisitely mortifying that your brain has repressed the memory to prevent uncontrollable, random sobbing in later life. Anyway, don’t kid yourself. Geeks who overcompensate about sports usually end up like this.

So fuck sport, essentially. Give me hobbies, games, pursuits, pastimes, diversions, distractions. Give me arts, crafts and interests as quickly as you can make them up. Just don’t make me line up with a bunch of red-faced goons in an effort to work out which one of us is the best at them. It never ends well. For me, anyway.

Top Five: Events at a geek-friendly Olympic Games
1. Cosplay championship
2. 800m Hurdles – Severe Asthmatics Edition™
3. Warhammer 40,000 tabletop tournament
4. Obscure music/film reference face-off
5. Wotsits Scoffing – an endurance event, brought to you by Wotsits

1/ Artist: Magnolia Electric Co.
Track:Josephine

Sell it to me: If you’re currently living through post-Glastonbury, why-can’t-the-whole-year-be-like-that-weekend comedown syndrome, you could certainly do worse than give yourself a wistful, nostalgic audio rubdown with this lovely track from Jason Molina’s Magnolia Electric Co. Having said that, if you were raving it up in a dance tent somewhere whilst Neil Young and Springsteen were lurching around the Pyramid Stage, this might make you want to burst your own eardrums with an air horn. Because this little slice of alt-country sentiment is all about traditional song structure and austere interplay between guitar, piano and vocals. Even if that description makes you want to slip into a light coma, stick around until the chorus at least.

The rousing piano and plaintive vocal hook (“Oh, what a fool I’ve been”) might just grab you. If you like this, then good news – Molina has released about eleventy billion albums under various guises since joining Secretly Canadian in ’97, so a world of heartland rock and lo-fi country awaits you.

Where can I hear this? Download the track at Secretly Canadian’s website here.

Okay, I’m in. What now? Magnolia Electric Co.’s new album, also entitled Josephine, is released on July 20. Catch them playing live at the Bush Hall on September 2.

2/ Artist: Discovery
Track: ‘So Insane’ (XL Records)

Sell it to me: The brainchild of Vampire Weekend keyboardist Rostam Batmanglij (9/10 on the Frank Zappa Awesome Pop Name Scale™) and Ra Ra Riot singer Wes Miles (2/10), Discovery join the ever-expanding list of indie kids riffing on 80s electro-pop and 90s r & b. But wait, come back! Unlike Ladyhawke et al, there’s more to this than ironic hipster revivalism/musical burglary. Discovery take the template of bubblegum synth pop and stuff it full of very modern experiments in melody and rhythm that challenge but don’t detract from danceability.

‘So Insane’ starts simply with breezy vocals punctuated by scattershot beats, then judders to a near-standstill to deliver a chorus that sounds like a helicopter taking off. Sure, the lyrics are daft fodder (“When I saw you at the discotheque/ I sent my vibe out to ya”), but that’s hardly the point, is it? The point is, summer’s here and you need something to blast out of your car window. Or at least drown out the endless Michael Jackson tributes.

Where can I hear this? On the band’s website, along with loads of other tracks, here.

Okay, I’m in. What now? Discovery’s debut LP, called, um, LP, is out on July 6.

3/ Artist: Kill It Kid
Track: ‘Burst Its Banks’ (One Little Indian)

Sell it to me: To play great blues, you usually need to fulfil at least two of the following three criteria:

1/ Have deep emotional scars
2/ Have deep physical scars
3/ Have made a deal with the devil

All aged between 20 and 22, the members of Bath-based five-piece Kill It Kid would need to be in a hurry to get all or any of this done, but they make a warm, satisfying racket nonetheless. The band co-opts various forms of American roots music and mixes it into a spicy blues-rawk cocktail (the band got its name from a Blind Willie McTell song). ‘Burst Its Banks’ works a nice quiet-loud formula, with roaring, tremolo-laden riffs giving way to emotive strings. But the first thing that’ll smack you in the ears is lead vocalist Chris Turpin’s voice.

It’s like a hand grenade filled with honey, visceral and soothing by turns. Turpin’s throaty, Hegarty-esque warble is bound to divide listeners, but along with the strings, it gives ‘Burst Its Banks’ an emotional anchor and instant recognisability. It’s a little early to start revving up the hype machine, but it’s certainly a stirring start.

Where can I hear this? On Kill It Kid’s Myspace page, here, along with previous single ‘Send Me An Angel Down’ and some live recordings.

Okay, I’m in. What now? There are rumblings of a debut album coming this autumn, but no confirmed release date yet. We’ll be keeping a close ear on this West-country wild bunch, though, so watch this space.

4/ Artist: Nosaj Thing
Track: ‘Light #2’ (Alpha Pup)

Sell it to me: Electronic music of the whirring, clickety-clack sort such as that on display here will always be, for the compu-tarded amongst us, the most sorcerous of musical genres. Sure, rock ‘n’ roll has a certain alchemy to it when it all comes together, but you can still see where the sounds are coming from. Strings are strummed, snares are thwacked, mics get sodden with spittle – no mystery there. But if you can somehow wring something evocative from a pile of wires and scratched laptops? That, my friends, be magic.

Case in point: LA-based instrumental hip-hop producer Nosaj Thing (aka Jason Cheung). ‘Light #2’, taken from debut LP Drift, begins with a crunchy, layered arpeggio that sounds like a halfway house between a Mozart concerto and Optimus Prime transforming into a juggernaut. From there it blooms into a swaying, swooping collage of bass and synths, tied together with disciplined clicks and claps. Like Flying Lotus (and countless others) before him, Nosaj Thing elevates electronica into something more than music to take drugs to. Although it would be awesome to take drugs to.

Where can I hear this? ‘Light #2’ is streaming at Hype Machine, here. Also take a goosey gander at Nosaj Thing’s Myspace and the Alpha Pup site for more.

Okay, I’m in. What now? Drift was released in the US on June 9, but you might struggle to find it in record stores over here. If you don’t fancy an afternoon of record store rummaging, you can purchase direct from the Alpha Pup website.

5/ Artist: Spoon
Track: ‘Got Nuffin’

Sell it to me: This track gets instant London Ears points for the faux cockney affectations of the title (especially given that the band’s from Awstin, Teeeexas). It gets a whole skipload more London Ears points because it comes from the band who delivered Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga in 2007, an album that’s as easy to love as it is irritating to type. It gets a liberal final sprinkling of London Ears points with a cherry on top for being a damn fine track, and a great introduction to the band’s sound if you haven’t come across them yet.

Guitars fizz, Britt Daniel snaps and snarls along in those sexy, husky tones of his, and drummer Jim Eno thumps out a repetitive beat that could probably be played just as well by a six year-old but keeps the frayed guitars in line as ruthlessly as a hyperactive collie. The song’s not as nihilistic as the title would suggest, either. Quite the opposite in fact, as attested by the main vocal hook: “Got nothin’ to lose but darkness and shadows/ Got nothin’ to lose but emptiness and hang-ups”.

Where can I hear this? You can find this track at a bunch of music blogs and review sites, but, randomly, we plucked out I Guess I’m Floating, because, well, it came up first on Google.

Okay, I’m in. What now? Well, pick up the aforementioned, irritating-to-type album to start with. And ‘Got Nuffin’ is part of a digital EP of the same name which you can download now from anywhere really. Let’s not plug any particular site. But, you know, the one you always use.

Let me explain myself. Back around the year dot, humans cottoned on to the fact that they were marginally more intelligent than the average cow. These beasts were so dumb that they could be harnessed to pull carts around fields and, crucially, thick enough to not mind being whipped if they were slacking off. And so whips were duly invented, and about forty seconds after that, some guy was inspired to make that snide whip crack sound effect whenever another man left his company because of plans with a girlfriend. And that’s pretty much set the tone for gender relations up until now.

You’d think that we would have moved on in the several thousand years between then and now, but despite massive innovation in almost every other aspect of the human experience, this area seems to have remained pretty static. If you’re a guy, you have guy friends and the only reason you could possibly want to spend time with your girlfriend is if she’s coercing you with manipulative feminine mind darts or bribing you with sweaty pleasures. There is, of course, no other rational reason that you would forsake your broheems, right?

Of course not all men are like this, and even in this frivolous blog it would be offensive to suggest otherwise. But there is often a prevailing atmosphere, especially amongst men, that the genders are at their happiest and most natural when with their own kind and should only come together for the purpose of humping and/or bickering about whose turn it is to take out the bins (hopefully not simultaneously).

Our fascination with male-male heteromances has always been reflected in Hollywood (Laurel and Hardy were awfully cosy, weren’t they?), but never more enthusiastically than in some of its most successful recent comedy releases. Movies like Superbad, I Love You, Man, Clerks II and Pineapple Express all (awkward, prolonged metaphor alert) diligently mine the depths of man-love to exploit a rich vein of hilarity and tap into an underground reservoir of emotion. They are lighted-hearted journey to the sweet, molten centre of male bonding, and for that I thoroughly enjoy most of them. Even if I wish they’d take the genre to the logical conclusion and make a movie where two male protagonists finally admit they’re totally gay-bones for each other.

But some of these movies do sort of expose the lack of women amongst Hollywood scriptwriters. Take Forgetting Sarah Marshall, for instance. A perfectly serviceable movie, there’s no denying it, with plenty of funny moments. But, at its heart, it’s a 15 year-old boy’s revenge/wank fantasy committed to celluloid.

Think about it – BOY gets dumped by nasty manipulative GIRL, takes trip to Hawaii where he meets another GIRL, who is ten times better because she is essentially a BOY in a HOT CHICK’S body. HOT CHICK/BOY promptly, inexplicably, falls in love with BOY, which makes aforementioned heinous ex-girlfriend JEALOUS and DESPERATE. Curtains close with BOY happily wooing HOT CHICK/BOY, and the obliteration of nasty GIRL’s career. SHE DOESN’T DESERVE ONE BECAUSE SHE’S MEAN.

And meanwhile, films that purport to be made for women portray the entire gender as calculating, Machiavellian, and, let’s not forget, fucking batshit crazy. If you can stomach it, add Bride Wars, How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days, Failure To Launch or The Women to your LoveFilm list (please don’t pay for them). Depressingly, women were involved with the writing of three of these four movies, which slightly/entirely shits on my point about the lack of women amongst Hollywood screenwriters. All we can hope is that if more women get involved in writing and directing movies, the Hollywood balance of power will gradually begin to equalise and female writers won’t be shoehorned into writing such fetid drivel and can start to spread their wings. Because, for all the explosions, car chases and superheroes, one thing that mainstream cinema is desperately light on is female characters that feel remotely real.

NOTE: I pretty much made it my mission to get through this blog without once mentioning the word “bromance”, as this buzzword lost all sense of cool when Davina McCall said it on Big Brother. So I went with “Bromeo” and “heteromance”, because I feel a responsibility to push the English language forward.

Top Five: movies that have bothered with female characterisation
1. Volver (written by Pedro Almodovar)
2. Lost In Translation (written by Sofia Coppola)
3. Secretary (written by Erin Cressida Wilson, Mary Gaitskill and Steven Shainberg)
4. Sophie’s Choice (written by Alan J Pakula from a novel by William Styron)
5. Annie Hall (written by Woody Allen and Marshall Brickman)