What you (may have) missed on 3:AM recently:
Fiction: ‘The Long Drop’ by Nick Garrad & ‘Something, Anything’ by David Holub
Poetry: ‘The Roaring Twenties’ by Joseph Ridgwell
Reviewed: Richard Marshall on Jet Set Desolate & Seeing Dark Things, Jonathan Woods on When Skateboards Will Be Free, Karl Whitney spends Twenty Minutes in Manhattan, Max Dunbar visits This is Paradise! My North Korean Childhood & James Bridle on The Devil’s Paintbrush
Non-Fiction: ‘Friday I’m in Love’ kicks-off with Kitchen of Distinction, Attila the Stockbroker’s tribute to Steven Wells, Kimberly Nichols’ new column ‘Fig Meant #1′, Stewart Home spends ‘Saturday Night at the Movies’ with Primitive London, Graham Rae on Green Day’s 21st Century Breakdown:
What Billy Bob and his bands of merry pranksters-cum-emo-clowns have taken eight albums to tell us is that they are burned out and have absolutely nothing to say. How many times do they have to say it before the audience takes the hint and moves on? How many times must Armstrong raid the outdated farcical arsenal of outdated 20th century extremist punk give-em-enough-rope tropes before the audience just tells them to fuck off and not come back? From my vantage point, these advantaged millionaires have come to the end of their sonic road and nothing they ever say or do again could be of any interest to me whatsoever. Armstrong, just give it up. You don’t have the brains or lyrical or musical talent to be some sort of anarcho-punk leader, you’re a Joe Strummer wannabe and your lyrics suck shit.
First posted: Sunday, July 5th, 2009.
