History
2011 2011 marched to a similar drum, with a slightly more promising beat. Not the death of Amy Winehouse, which will remain a tragedy of a generation, but at least Cameron finally phased out the “Big Society”, to this day claiming it was a dare. It was replaced with a much more enjoyable delusional catchphrase – “WINNING!” brought to you by the squareroot of daft, Charlie Sheen. In an act of extreme masochism, Sheen did not take being sacked from Two and a Half Men well, and went on a media blitz where he turned the word ‘winning’ into an emotion and a verb. Increasingly rolling his eyes at interview questions and responding, “duh, winning”, I’ve got to admit, I liked the optimism and simplicity of the guy. I bailed when he told Good Morning America: “I am on a drug. It’s called Charlie Sheen. It’s not available because if you try it once, you will die. Your face will melt off, and your children will weep over your exploded body.” The year delivered hard on it’s viral music hit too, without a sexual predator at large in a poor, black neighbourhood in sight. I still watch ‘Buttery Biscuit Base’ once a week. It is perfection. You should go and watch it right now, and don’t even come back to this article until at least tomorrow. ‘Buttery Biscuit Base’ is what Charlie Sheen must have been talking about. ‘Buttery Winning Base’, I call it. And of course 2011 will be remembered for the final ever LCD Soundsystem show, held at Maddison Square Garden on April 2. Thousands planned to go from all over the world, cashing in their life savings to make sure they were there one last time. Isn’t that a little rash, their concerned families would say, but this was their only chance to ever see LCD again. Ever. No more shows. 100%. T’s & C’s apply.
2012 Considering 2012 was the last year that some of us smiled, let’s not pretend that it wasn’t the peak of the decade, or perhaps the history of life on earth. The London Olympics was an event in which doctors and nurses were finally put in their place as true
heroes were recognised as Games Makers showing members of the public to their seats in the hockey arena. The whole lot of them had sex on tap, and inspired a generation to wear purple and orange tracksuits and point towards Stratford Tube station while shouting goodnight. Second only to the Games Makers (and the sport, and the Queen jumping out of a plane, and Super Saturday, and Meat Free Mondays) was the music of Danny Boyle’s opening ceremony. Expecting it to be as dogshit as what was hinted at when Boris Johnson arrived at the Beijing 2008 closing ceremony flapping from a routemaster, Boyle’s production provided us with a rare moment of unbridled pride in our country, using it as he did to eccentrically celebrate the NHS one minute and Monty Python the next. Dizzee Rascal got to perform to an audience of one billion in his own postcode, and we got to show off the historic clout of British pop music. Most importantly, it wasn’t all The Beatles, the Stones and The Sex Pistols; Underworld, The Prodigy and Soul II Soul all had their say too. And some of us had to watch all of this with shit in our pants because the opening soundtrack to the whole event was – still unbelievably – ‘Surf Solar’ by Fuck Buttons. Later, the London Symphony Orchestra would cover ‘Sundowner’ by Blanck Mass at the raising of the Union Jack, although I’d had a heart attack by then.
2013 It was impossible to keep up with 2012, so 2013 didn’t even try. Take your pick of which of these you think is the lowest point of the year: James Blake wins the Mercury Prize, but with his second album; Myley Cyrus twerks on Beetlejuice as they perform ‘Blurred Lines’ at the VMAs; Lou Reed dies aged 71; Robbie Williams releases a cheap and offensively titled second swing album called Swings Both Ways. You’ve chosen Robbie, haven’t you, and perhaps not even because you don’t agree with the fetishisation of sexuality by a profiteering pig in a suit singing ‘Putting On The Ritz’. Robbie Williams is a rare creature who makes everything unbearable by being involved. If you won the Lottery but your cheque had to be delivered by Robbie Williams you’d think twice about calling the hotline.
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