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"GIVE YOU ALL MY MONEY, MUTHA-FUCKA!"

STRUMMER LOVE

You like The Clash? Buy The Clash, then.

Andrew Unterberger of Stylus gets it pretty much right.

The Exploding Hearts - Guitar Romantic

When the Strokes became the next big thing a little over two years ago, nobody (except maybe the ever-hopeful staff at Q, god bless ‘em) really thought that they were going to save rock. Once most of the hype died down, people were easily able to size up the boys for what they were—a concoction of influences that stumbled into the right place at the right time. There wasn’t an original idea contained in all of Is This It?, but the band had good pedigree and synthesized their borrowings undeniably well. Consequently, a lot of hipsters cried bloody murder at the hype, but most were able to give them the benefit of the doubt.

[...]

This isn’t what the world needs now. Music has enough revivalist, tribute and retro acts right now to last for at least another 25 years. Guitar Romantic wouldn’t have sounded any fresher before The Strokes, but resistance to its staleness would probably have been considerably lower. If you listen to this album and think “that’s a fucking stupid attitude to take, it’s just a collection of great pop songs, stop analyzing it so much,” then good for you. If the slowly momentum-gaining hype for The Exploding Hearts never reaches boiling point, then I might still be sick of it, but your attitude is probably the smart one to have. But until then, keep this album away from the NME at all costs—music, in general, has no further use for one more album of catchy but hopelessly backwards-looking pop.

Then there's Liam Colle at Popmatters. Liam, I'm sorry the band is dead, mate, but for Christ sake, get a grip, they're not that good.

The Exploding Hearts - Guitar Romantic

I've written four f**king reviews for this album already. No matter what I try, it still ends up being the central point. I just can't write about Guitar Romantic without foregrounding the album's brilliance in the fact that, tragically, three of the members are dead. Yeah, on Sunday July 20, 2003, hardly a year after this fantastic release, frontman Adam Cox, drummer Jeremy Gage and bassist Matt Fitzgerald were killed in a car accident coming back from a show in San Francisco. So in this, the fifth edition, I'm abandoning journalistic detachment, and totally giving in to hindsight, grief and bitterness.

[...]

Well, another rock career cut terribly short. The tragedy of the Exploding Hearts epitomizes the caprice of art and youth. Too many times have music fans had to mourn their heroes prematurely. At least the Hearts have left us with the invaluable Guitar Romantic, an album that, ironically, synthesizes vitality and casualty so brilliantly. All that's left to do now is dance.

AGB Rating - Credit

SUITE TALK

You want to know something? Well, I'll tell you anyway. I find it extra-ordinarily difficult to critique music. Seriously. I know bugger-all about it. Music, that is.

Oh, I know WHO made it. I know WHEN they made it. Most times I even know WHERE they made it. But I have no idea HOW they made it. You know, the technical things. I wouldn't know the difference between a treble clef and a double fault.

Therefore, when it comes to me being critical of a piece of music, I can't very well base my assessment on whether or not all the notes are in the right spots, only on whether or not I like the sound of it.

It also means that if all the "experts" rave on about a particular album, I'm on pretty shaky ground if I go overboard criticising it, or at the least, am less than exultant about it. Afterall, from a technical perspective; how the fuck would I know?

No, given my lack of technical expertise I just clamber aboard that old maxim; "You don't need to be a chicken to know a rotten egg".

Even though I don't know how it all goes together, I reckon I have a fairly discerning ear for what's good and what's not. Feel free to disagree.

However, if all those self same "experts", who probably do know the odd thing or two about middle-eights, semi-quavers and crotchets rave on about, say, The Flaming Lips, am I just talking out of my hat if I say I don't love them too?

Which brings me to Smile. If it happens you don't normally pay attention to these music posts, make an exception this time round, and make sure you read what Dave Marsh wrote 25 years ago.

Smile is OK. No, it's better than OK, it's actually rather good, but if the critics are to be believed, it's an absolute masterpiece.

However, if it's an absolute masterpiece it must be every bit as good as all the other albums I consider to be absolute masterpieces. And it must also have been an absolute masterpiece for a lot longer than the short time in which it's been available.

I don't see that. Not yet, anyway.

In short, the two songs that frame the album, Heroes and Villains and Good Vibrations both go very well, indeed. But you knew that, didn't you, they've both been around for ages. In between is virtually one long song suite. After four listens, that part also seems to go alright. Although, I still prefer the suite concept of Blood, Sweat & Tears' Child Is Father To The Man.

Another thing about all the other albums I consider masterpieces is that they were released well before I got to hear about them. I was afforded the advantage of not having to put up with the publicity and hype.

So in a cop-out of monumental proportions, I'll sit on Smile for the time being and get back to you in five years.

In the meantime, here's what Rolling Stone's (back when it was a creditable magazine) Dave Marsh wrote about The Beach Boys, Smile and Pet Sounds in 1979.

As the sixties waned, and with the advent of mass freak-out not only in California but all over Europe and America, Brian Wilson lost touch; his real talent was for expressing simple, everyday joys, not the mystical gobbledygook then in fashion. But the decade (and the drugs) began to have it's affect on him, and as a concequence, on the group, which has never been much more than a front for his personality.

Pet Sounds was the band's first commercial failure, mostly because Wilson was attempting to create the sort of pastiche The Beatles popularised with Sgt. Pepper before there was a market for it. The music is strong but spotty: if Wilson was ready for the experimentation, it is unlikely the other Beach Boys understood his portent.

Wild Honey is similarly confused: the title track is a R&B-flavoured smash, just the thing one would have bet the Beach Boys couldn't do well. But the rest is too cute or strained. 20/20 and Friends are basically collections of singles, some of which were moderate hits, most of which weren't. They were released because Wilson had bigger game in mind: a total production-conceptual masterpiece, tentatively called Smile.

For various reasons often chronicled elsewhere, the album was not released until the mid-seventies, when it's innovation seemed rather tepid and it's focus altogether misdirected. But Wilson's mystique, particularly among the critics, grew larger as the group's releases diminished -- Smiley Smile was gonna be a perfect record, one was assured again and again. People kept saying it even though the excerpts released on Surf's Up were much less forceful than the simple early rock hits. It was an excercise in myth-making almost unparalleled in show business. Wilson became a Major Artist by making music no one ever heard. That the results are so trivial is a bit amusing, a bit revolting.

I would love to hear what Marsh has to say today.

A contemporary of Dave Marsh is Robert Christgau and fortunately Rolling Stone have him on board to do their review of Smile.

Smile

Never mind Pet Sounds. Good record, but a totem. That leaves three great Beach Boys albums. First comes a fun-fun-fun best-of: With the canonical Endless Summer deleted, settle for 2003's longer, less pristine Sounds of Summer. The other two are quickies that fit neatly on one must-own CD: Buy Smiley Smile/Wild Honey while EMI lets you.

Smiley Smile and Wild Honey get respect now, but in 1967 they peeved hard-core Pet Sounds fans, who were waiting gape-mouthed for Smile, described by those in the know as the American Sgt. Pepper -- proof that our Bea-boys belonged in the same league as their Bea-boys. But Brian went bonkers, Mike Love got busy, and we ended up with only "Good Vibrations" and "Heroes and Villains" -- stopgap singles that made it onto the belittlingly titled Smiley Smile -- and dribs and drabs thereafter.

Only you know what happened? Brian Wilson survived his saner brothers and rebuilt his career, which the completely rerecorded SMiLE is supposed to crown. Since much of Wilson's 2004 Gettin' In Over My Head could have been sung from a crypt, this seemed like a terrible idea. Instead, it's a triumph.

AGB Rating - Distinction

AUSTRALIA, YOU'RE FILMING IN IT

I don't ever do lists ... but in my last one I forgot about Aussie fillums.

Then again, why do something when someone else can do it for you, in this case Leigh Paatch in Saturday's Herald Sun.

Movie reviewer Leigh Paatsch trolls through the archives and chooses 30 of Australia's greatest films. Film buffs will notice the roll call doesn't include titles produced before the 1970s. Paatsch emphasises superior craft and enduring entertainment value in making this list. Though there are pre-'70s films of considerable historical and material significance, most notably Soldiers of the Cross (1900), Forty Thousand Horsemen (1940) and Jedda (1955), few would hail them as classics. A line was drawn through foreign-produced films shot on Australian soil. This meant contenders such as Walkabout (1971) and Moulin Rouge (2000) missed the cut.

1. Lantana
2. Mad Max 2
3. Picnic At Hanging Rock
4. Rabbit-Proof Fence
5. Romper Stomper
6. Shine
7. Gallipoli
8. Muriel's Wedding
9. Breaker Morant
10. Chopper
11. Mad Max
12. The Boys
13. Love Serenade
14. The Dish
15. Dead Calm
16. Sunday Too Far Away
17. Strictly Ballroom
18. Malcolm
19. The Year My Voice Broke
20. Two Hands
21. Australian Rules
22. Mt Brilliant Career
23. Proof
24. Crocodile Dundee
25. The Castle
26. Celia
27. The Cars That Ate Paris
28. Pricilla, Queen Of The Desert
29. The Adventures Of Barry McKenzie
30. Don's Party & The Club

Cheeky of Paatch to include both Don's Party AND The club. Make your mind up, man!

It may also surprise you to know that I really like Love Serenade.

I would replace Rabbit-Proof Fence with Backroads.

Other inclusions would be The Big Steal, Wake In Fright, Crocodile Dundee in LA -- Not really, it was complete arse. I was just seeing if you were paying attention -- and The Last Wave. I seem to have fond memories of Alice To Nowhere. I haven't seen Newsfront, but people whose judgement I respect in these matters tell me it goes OK. Despite an overload of quirk, Spotswood I liked.

I would NOT include Japanese Story. High Tide is unspeakable crap. Dogs in Space bites. Siam Sunset is shit. Death In Brunswick is very boring. Far East is an Aussie attempt at Casablanca (at least, that was the idea) and is unwatchable nonsense. Risk had the potential to be good but turned into rubbish. The Year Of Living Dangerously is one of the few films I've walked out of. The Devil's Playground annoyed me in an "I went to boarding school too, and it wasn't like that" way. For some reason Starstruck is fondly remembered, but is tripe. Tim? Eat shit! Violet's Visit. No really, this actually IS an Aussie fillum, it's a take on La Cage aux Folles. Naturally, it's crap too. Razorback looks like a bad rock film-clip. Is Cocktail Australian? It is fuck!

Then there's the strangely remembered weird shit that may be appalling rubbish, but for some reason or another, has stuck in my mind. The Last of The Knucklemen, End Play, Raw Deal, Inn Of The Damned, Long Weekend, Hoodwink, Turkey Shoot, Petersen, Scobie Malone, Betty Blokk-buster Follies, The Chant of Jimmy Blacksmith and Pure Shit.

Did you know Bryan Brown is currently set to star in a TV Movie of The Poseidon Adventure?

BUGGLES SORTS IT OUT

Seems some punters are peeved Belle & Sebastian got The Buggle's Trevor Horn on board to produce Dear Catastrophe Waitress, but not me.

Horn is one of pop music's great producers and as I was previously never a big fan of B&S's , was more than happy for him to tart up their sound.

Let's face it, Video Killed The Radio Star is one of the great singles of all time and if Horn, who also produced Frankie Goes To Hollywood, could polish up their hitherto fey noodling in the same way, then surely it must be a good thing.

We'll just put TaTu down to a Cocksucker Blues type contact snarl, shall we.

I like that Marc Hogan at Popmatters brings up Wes Anderson by way of comparison. I don't like that he over-praises Anderson, but you can't have everything.

A Belle & Sebastian record is like a Wes Anderson film: a delicate, self-contained universe of immaculate detail and pitch-perfect wordplay, where unforgettable and nearly unbelievable characters interact to earn a few highbrow guffaws and reveal subtle truths about the human condition. Both Anderson, director of such cult classics as Rushmore and The Royal Tenenbaums, and indie-pop heroes Belle & Sebastian, fronted by singer-songwriter Stuart Murdoch, interweave vaguely retro aesthetics with strikingly au courant human commentary. Both Anderson and Murdoch bring an auteur sensibility to their art. And both, on a small scale, have inspired fervent fan bases.

AGB Rating - Distinction

THE THREE AHHRRS

Reading, riting ... running?

Speaking of things educational. The other day I was supervising a test when one of the students asked me to show him where, exactly, on the formula sheet were the relevant formulas. We have a generic sheet showing all the formulae from the course.

I told him not to be stupid. Of course I couldn't show him where they were, he was supposed to know them and if he was a little hazy, then he'd recognize them when he saw them. He obviously didn't know them. Dumb kid!

About half an our later, after I'd finished the crossword, I picked up the test-paper for a casual run-through and guess what? That's right, no formulae.

It wouldn't have made any difference, mind you, the kid who asked is as dumb as a packet of Coco-Pops, but now I've got something of a dilemma. I can't very well fail everyone who get's a poor mark, nor can I just pass the lot. Or can I? Should I just apply the Bell Curve?

I usually just pass the kids I like, but I think the ice is a little thin this time round, so what do you reckon? What should I do?

ET IN ARCADE EGO

This album takes me back to the Pilbara in the early eighties when apple shampoo was all the go, tart fuel was about to hit the market and all the "cool" people were playing Talking Heads and the dags, Split Enz.

Now the Heads were big back then, so their influence is no surprise. Split Enz, though? I suppose it's possible a couple of Canadian hipsters from 2004 could have based their sound on a Kiwi band circa 1982, you never know, but Funeral sounds amazingly like the Enz. Not that that's an entirely bad thing mind you, they went alright, but I'd have preferred a touch less Six Months In A Leaky Boat and a whole lot more I See Red.

There's also ... ahem ... discordant violin. DISCORDANT VIOLIN, people! You know what that means, don't you? I needn't spell it out, but were I to note this album doesn't exactly represent a new age in popular music, you'd probably then get my drift.

Nevertheless, as I always say, it doesn't matter where you get the building materials, it's how you put them together.

Funeral is put together OK.

Casey Rea at Dusted seem to have the right perspective on things.

Canada's virtues as a haven for creative minds are being extolled by indie-scenesters throughout North America, and the mythologization of the "Canadian aesthetic" is now fully underway. It's a process that sometimes undermines objectivity in evaluating groups from the country – and can often overshadow a band's merits as well as its faults. Hailing from Montreal, the Arcade Fire's Merge Records debut is impressive, but an excess of praise has been heaped upon the band by tastemakers looking to chew up and spit out the next underground icon.

AGB Rating - Credit

DON THE CONTRARY

According to last weekend's Sunday Age, Don Bradman thought Murali a legitimate bowler.

Bradman felt Muralitharan was a clean bowler

Sir Donald Bradman declared Muttiah Muralitharan's controversial bowling action legal and described umpire Darrell Hair's attitude towards the Sri Lankan spinner as "distasteful" shortly before his death in 2001.

Most everyone would be prepared to accept the "distasteful" part, but considering Bradman's history with chucking, the rest seemed a stretch. Mike Coward reports on the doubters.

Web spun over Don comment

RENEWED claims that Donald Bradman believed the no-balling of Sri Lankan spinner Muttiah Muralitharan for throwing retarded the development of world cricket have been dismissed as "bizarre and far-fetched" by the guardians of the Bradman legacy.

Not sure where Coward sits on chucking, but it's possible to read plenty into his last paragraph.

Thompson, an unabashed admirer of Muralitharan, recently presented the controversial Sri Lankan off-spinner with a cricket ball autographed by Bradman to mark his achievement of 500 Test wickets.

Tim Lane, on the other hand, is an out-and-out critic of Murali and the balls-up that is chucking.

The Don and Murali

"The most arresting aspect of (Bradman's) comments is the change of heart such a strong position on behalf of a suspect bowler would represent."

THE AUGER SANCTION

Jim White's first two albums were marked by decidedly off-beat lyrics combined with a spare and abrasive musical accompaniment.

His third, Drill a Hole ... , with Joe Henry on board as producer, takes the emphasis off the idiosyncratic lyrics and puts it on the arrangements. The word "lush" comes to mind.

All things being equal, you'd expect his next to combine the best of all three albums and come up with a classic for the ages.

This one's certainly not a classic, but it's fine by me.

I agree with Andrew Gilstrap at Popmatters.

The only song that feels like an odd fit is "Alabama Chrome", helmed by Barenaked Ladies. Despite a promising start, in which White recites a litany of day-by-day deterioration and miscellaneous semantic arguments, a too-slick chorus threatens to bring the whole thing apart. And then a pitter-patter vocal breach into the song by the Ladies themselves does derail it beyond repair. "If Jesus Drove a Motor Home" doesn't quite work, either, but at least it's in keeping with Jim White tradition.

And with Dom Sinacola at Cokemachine Glow.

"Alabama Chrome" enlists the help of everyone's favorite naked chubby guys, the Barenaked Ladies. Jim holds his own, churning through familiar alt-twang fare, but Ed Robertson diarrheas all over what could be an intriguing ditty, ruining it completely. This must be the sound of Jim White getting Danza Slapped, because there can't be any other way he would collaborate on such schlock.

And NOT with Adam Sweeting at The Guardian

From a very fine bunch of songs, try the twangsome Alabama Chrome or the immensely deadpan If Jesus Drove a Motor Home ("midnight at the waffle house - Jesus eating eggs with y'all") just for starters.

AGB Rating - Credit

TAMPER TANTRUM

Apart from the occasional juicy first-day pitch, The Gabba strip would consistently have to be one of the best five in world cricket. In fact, Aussie pitches would make up at least half the best Top 10.

John Bracewell is a goose.

Bracewell flays Gabba pitch

New Zealand coach John Bracewell has accused Gabba curators of preparing a pitch that will benefit Australia in tonight's Chappell-Hadlee Trophy decider and says Channel Nine manipulated its "hawkeye" technology in Wednesday night's game to support umpiring decisions that favoured the home side.

An agitated Bracewell claimed the Gabba wicket had been altered more than once. "We're not sure what the wicket is like because it's been changed two or three times depending on the results of the last two games," he said. He also suggested bowler Daniel Vettori's impact could be limited by the recent heavy rain and "the change of pitch".

But Gabba curator Kevin Mitchell said the change of pitch was necessary due to the recent inclement weather in Brisbane.

"I've made a couple of comments before about that joker and he's not the type of person you should take seriously," Mitchell said of Bracewell.

New Zealand, along with most of the cricket world, consider Australia's ability against off-spin to be it's main weakness. So do I, for that matter.

However, I get fired up when other countries come here and complain about our pitches. Pitches that are invariably well presented when compared with pitches in other countries.

Or even more bizarre, they complain that OUR pitches don't suit THEIR bowlers.

The simple fact is, we serve up good pitches.

On the other hand, Australia go to New Z'lund next year and just like in India, the Kiwi's are going to make sure there are no super batting tracks for Australia to mount huge platforms.

They are going to serve up pitches as unsuited to Australia as they possibly can.

And if you go on the results from New Z'lund in 2000, where rugged pitches meant there was only one score over 300 and each match was reduced to a tight scrap, Australia's tour of New Zealand next year is a long way from a foregone conclusion.

HOT UNDER THE COLOUR

What the?!? Music critics really do go on a bit.

But if you can stick with its synthetic marionette oompah band designs, become immersed in its whirlwind momentum and flint-eyed wit, the chances are you'll fall in love with the album's deep mined reservoirs of charm and sheer eagerness to impress, and while struggling to decide which of it's restless mimi-suites to sing along with next, conclude that here is one of the most spectacular musical creations of recent times.

One wonders whether Mojo's Keith Cameron will look back at that a few years from now and cringe. And if it's so spectacular, how come he only gave it four stars? Hmmm, Keefy?

Anyhoo, I'll try to keep it simple.

I really like Blueberry Boat, hooks galore, plenty of beeps, twerps and tweets, but that's OK, they work. The main criticism would be it really does go on a bit, so maybe Mojo boy was inadvertently onto something.

The Guardian's Dave Pleschek, now Dave, he didn't like it.

The Fiery Furnaces, Blueberry Boat

Brother-and-sister duo Fiery Furnaces have released a string of brilliant singles and a rough-hewn debut album that announced a wildly eccentric talent. They seemed poised to make a classic second album. They haven't. Blueberry Boat unravels 13 tracks over more than 76 minutes. Opener Quay Cur witters on for nearly 11.  Sure, the lurching electronic pulse and wonky sci-fi are atmospheric, but what feels like several years and several obtuse lyrical and (barely) melodic digressions later, patience is utterly exhausted. Matthew and Eleanor Friedberger will try anything but don't know when to stop. Blueberry Boat purveys a curious kind of garage-prog. The lyrics, which owe a big debt to Pavement but out-quirk them, seem written in an internal language full of arcane and/or strenuously odd allusions that the pair shared since childhood. There are only three snatches of what might be called a tune, and wonderful live favourite My Dog Was Lost But Now He's Found only just survives its curveball arrangement. A crashing disappointment.

AGB Rating - Distinction

PIQUE HOUR

6:45pm Kilby Road, East Kew. Peak hour.

Yet even though there's not a car in sight, and room for two lanes either way, AND a bike lane, the speed limit is only 50 km/h. Anywhere else, as in anywhere "don't gouge the citizens" else, and on a similar road, the speed limit would be 70 km/h. Maybe more.

ALL OF MY FRIENDS WERE THERE

In 1999 I was at a wedding in the Victorian country town of Avoca.

It was late, very late, and I was on DJ duty playing The Kinks Are The Village Green Preservation Society when I was accosted by a hick. The hick looked me up and down as though I was some sort of pathetic simpleton, and shaking his head with utter disdain, said; "This is rat-shit. You have no taste in music."

Now THAT is a recommendation.

Is that how you spell Odessey?

The Kinks Are The Village Green Preservation Society

It was one of those albums that did not really perform in commercial sales terms at the time but, with the benefit of hindsight, The Kinks are the Village Green Preservation Society is now seen as one of the major album releases of the 1960s. Pete Townshend of the Who described the album as Ray Davies' masterpiece, his Sergeant Pepper. Davies himself called the album "pop's best-kept secret." Like the Zombies' Odessey & Oracle, this is an album that is better appreciated now than when it was released. This was a golden age for British albums and this may have meant that The Kinks are the Village Green Preservation Society was released around the same time as Electric Ladyland, The White Album and Beggar's Banquet. Quite some competition!

AGB Rating - High Distinction

READ ALL ABOAT IT!

If the ongoing saga about the rowing slappers wasn't such a ... ahem ... cox-up, it would be funny.

Parents rock boat over Robbins

Sally Robbins should never have been selected for the final of the women's eights in Athens after she rowed poorly earlier in the Games, according to a confidential Australian Olympic Committee report and angry parents who have accused officials of a cover-up.

The crew was so concerned that Robbins would again fall short in the final that the rower sitting in front of her had a message inscribed on the back of her uniform imploring Robbins not to stop rowing, according to one parent.

Who am I kidding? It's a bloody hilarious.

KISS MY BUTT!

You should all know that I once made a century (105) in a Grand Final at Lilac Hill Park. We won.

Salman hammers his point

LEFT-handed batsman Salman Butt staked his credentials for one of Pakistan's troublesome opening berths in the Test series against Australia with an impressive century in yesterday's festival match against the Cricket Australia Chairman's XI at Perth's Lilac Hill.

Thank you. That is all.

NEU KIDS ON THE BLOCK

Just like the man says below; Pink Floyd, Spiritualized and buckets of Kraut Rock. A pinch of Joy Division thrown in for good measure.

What say you, Chris Roberts from Uncut Magazine?

Secret Machines - Now Here Is Nowhere
Four Stars

We raved about their eclectic mini album a year ago, and now Secret Machines - the Curtis brothers plus drummer Josh Garza, relocated from Dallas to New York - have honed their tight, tingly sound to produce a more direct yet equally powerful rock beast.

In short, it's like John Bonham playing with Can, or Floyd-meet-Spiritualized with a barely repressed pop consciousness.

Awkwardly funny, they're not averse to nine-minute epics (the suspenseful opener First Wave Intact, or the closing title track) but manage to fuse garage meatiness with stadium-spraying scale.

It's alla about the riffs, which insistently seduce and bully you until you're leaping around your living room like a Kiss fan with a brain.

Potent postmodern blues.

Postmodern? Whatever that is. Potent blues, anyway.

AGB Rating - Distinction

THE TWELFTH MAN

Yesterday the Troppo boys, Mark and Ken, wrote interesting posts on the ABC book thing. Here are The Top 50.

Today The Age mentions it too.

Readers of this newspaper, probably more than most, understand the enduring power and value of the written word.

While The Age is busy smugging it up, others understand the the enduring power of research.

Odd twist to TV book poll

THE ABC's 100 favourite books poll has been thrown into question after an unknown author and Christian minister beat literary greats to get near the top of the list.

The Rev Col Stringer -- who has his own ministry in Queensland -- beat Emily Bronte, J.D. Salinger and C.S. Lewis to finish 12th with his 800 Horsemen Who Changed the World  and 29th with "Fighting" McKenzie Anzac Chaplain.

His books fared better than J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Tolkien's The Hobbit and Little Women by Louisa May Alcott.

Tens of thousands of Australians voted for their favourite book via SMS, fax or email and the results were aired on the ABC on Sunday night.

Publishers yesterday questioned the validity of such polls, saying they had not heard of Stringer.

Nielsen BookScan, which tracks books in 85 per cent of booksellers but not religious stores, had only recorded seven sales for Stringer's books since December 2002.

THE GRATEST

The Guardian's music writers let fly on their personal dislikes.

Even though it's a fairly long article, you should read it, but should you be pressed for time, allow me to summarise.

Don't believe the hype

The Strokes: Status Quo without jokes.

James Brown: Crap and proud.

The Clash: "WEUUUURRRGH"

Pet Sounds: Cures cancer.

The Stone Roses: THE GREATEST ALBUM OF ALL TIME.

U2: Most over-rated band in history.

Neil Young: Paunchy Mojo-reading types.

Elvis Costello: Discomfort.

David Bowie: Less Ziggy Stardust, more Alvin.

Elvis: Shakin' Stevens, Rick Astley, Gareth Gates.

Bob Marley: Iron, like a lion, in Zion -- tie on.

Tom Waits: Pantomime.

Captain Beefheart: Zoot Talon Cornflake Mama.

Prince:

Nirvana: Bad hair daze.

The Rolling Stones: Hideous, tulip-mouthed cadaver.

The Doors: Who are those fools at his grave?

The Beatles: Pub rock by white idiots.

What's Going On: Mawkish, handwringing idiocy.

Obviously I don't agree with everything, but when one critic noted of Elvis Costello; "He was great on Larry Sanders, though" he took the words right out of my ... mouth.

I'd also like to know which acts these critics REALLY dislike. I mean, it's OK that you dislike, say, The Beatles, but surely that means you must REALLY, REALLY dislike Oasis.

SHOW ME THE HONEY

Juicy, sixties inspired guitar, drums, vocals and, of course, Hammond organ.

Over to you Matt Allen of Mojo Magazine.

The Bees - Free The Bees
Four Stars

How Lee Mavers must be grinding his molars.

So steeped in swinging psychedelia and gum-tingling pop melodies is Free The Bees,  that it should arrive coated in a sheen of dust from the 1960's - a studio addition the eccentric Mavers is alleged to have requested during the making of The La's only album.

Certainly The Bees have charm and infectious rhythms in abundance, trading in Lennon and McCartney's gruff vocal harmonies and the spiral hammond organ riffs that informed the Small Faces abrasive swagger.

Of course they'll inevitably draw comparisons to The Coral, but unlike the frustratingly inconsistent Rizla obsessives, this nostalgic mob provide an album of 12 polished gems, including the swoon of Wash In The Rain, Chicken Payback's disco stomp and the balmy jazz guitar flutterings that sprinkle the romantic I Love You.

You'll be charmed.

Charmed. I'm sure.

AGB Rating - Distinction

ODDS BODKINS!

"Tis good for men to love their present pains" -- Henry V

Thought that very thing as I watched Royal Deaths and Diseases on the History Channel last night.

Henry V, through no fault of his own, well, other than he happened to be there and his violent enemies wanted to kill him, once got an arrow stuck in his head which his doctor yanked out with a giant corkscrew covered in honey.

Prince Hal (later Henry V) was wounded in the face by an arrow at the Battle of Shrewsbury 1403. The royal physician John Bradmore had a tool made which consisted of a pair of smooth tongs, once carefully inserted into the rear of the arrowhead, the tongs screwed apart till they gripped its walls and allowed the head to be extracted from the wound. Prior to the extraction, the hole made by the arrow shaft had been widened by inserting larger and larger dowels of wood down the entry wound. The dowels were soaked in honey which contain natural antibiotics. The wound was dressed with a poultice of barley and honey mixed in turpentine. After 20 days, the wound was free of infection.

However, a few years on and no longer buckling a swash with his early vigour, tough battle boy Henry died of a tummy ache.

His son Henry VI, a bit of a goof, managed to die in a much more kingly manner; he was murdered.

FLOBBADOB LITTLE SWEDES

Chances are you've heard The Concrete's single, You Can't Hurry Love, probably seen the clip on Rage too. All cute and cartoonish and quirky. The song goes OK, I suppose, but by the end of a whole album I had the sort of feeling I usually get after one Marella Jube too many.

The music world has poppets galore and unless The Concrete's find some magic formula, I'm thinking only one word; Frente.

Joe Tangari of Pitchfork does the business. I think.

The Concretes - The Concretes
Rating: 8.1

The logistics of rock 'n' roll aren't glamorous. While Page, Plant, Jones & Bonham were getting ink for the holes they left in hotel room walls, some poor schlub who worked for the band was on the phone, discussing terms of payment for damages. And when that call ended, he had to make sure the trucks hit the road for the next city on time. Most big tours are actually registered corporations, and they're insured out the ass, but chances are, no one in the audience knows that, because it's just not what people want to hear about their music.

Apparently the review is about The Concretes.

Perhaps I should have gone with the review out of Uncut which concludes: "The best thing to come out of Sweden for a while - apart from Porn."

AGB Rating - Pass

SIMPLY SPLEENDID

Thursday night starting at Spleen on Bourke Street, I enjoyed an extraordinarily sophisticated evening of bloggers. In attendance were Boynton, Nabakov, Barista, Flute.T.D (Update: Sedge ducked off before I fronted) and obviously, Moi.

Moi? Well, I WAS clad head to toe in best black. Black skivvy, black tee-shirt, black 501s, black suede boots and black sox. Red & blue boxers, in case you're wondering. Very Melbourne, I'm told. Very chic. Anyhoo, I surely cut a fine figure of fashion.

I also arrived fashionably late and as I rocked up to the table, situated on the footpath of course, was immediately drawn into a conversation about Touch of Evil. Surely a good omen. This then morphed into a debate about the relative merits of Winter Kills.

As it happens, films and film people wove a tight thread through the evening. Quatermass and the Pit, Funny Bones, Oliver Reed, Dario Argento, Mario Bava, Ennio Morricone, Peter Sellers, The Killing, Whistle Down The Wind, The Shout, Flashman v Royal Flash and Ken Russell to name a few. We finished on Hammer Horrors.

Other topics discussed:

• Other bloggers -- No telling.
• The Pilbara and sickies.
• The Nullabor and crazed, criminal, lift-giving sickos.
• Fisherman's Bend and Beauforts. Or Grummans.
• Alan Clark and the Red Tops.
• Airfix, Revell and Tamiya.
• Goons in Fiji.
• Politicians who smoke.
• Politicians who "romp".
• Politicians who smoke after a "romp".

Topics not discussed:

• Eggs.

From Spleen we adjourned for dinner at The Italian Waiter's Club, and after the Waiter's went down to Myers Place for drinkies numerous. I drank peppy tea. Well, I AM a Tea-Totaller.

It was in Myers Place about two in the morning we learnt the startling truth about those lightweight Sydney Grogblogging wussies; they all fled at midnight.

In fact, as we were leaving I overheard Flute say Melbourne had it all over Sydney in the couth department. Offering much more in the way of culture, cuisine and ... err ... cooking, and was incredibly sophisticated and classy. Incredibly! Sydney, on the other hand, was a nasty, foetid cesspool of egos, superficiality, pretention, and going-home-at-midnight. Melbourne, he stated categorically, really must be the World's Best City.

Actually, he didn't say that ... but I could tell he wanted to.

BURGER STING

I have no problem with Gary Kirsten unloading on Hansie Cronje. Afterall, Cronje needs to be unloaded on.

Burger tip-off on Cronje

GARY KIRSTEN had heard all the rumours about match-fixing but it was a simple conversation about a hamburger that told him something was rotting in his civilised world.

Opening batsman Kirsten was on tour with the South African cricket team in Dubai in 1999 and joined by his wife Deb the same day that Hansie Cronje's wife Bertha flew in from South Africa.

Kirsten made it his business to seek out one of Dubai's finest restaurants to entertain his wife and asked Cronje the next day where he and Bertha had gone.

"He smiled and said they had gone to Burger King," Kirsten wrote in his new autobiography, Gazza.

"I smiled back and shrugged my shoulders. He continued the conversation by asking why I would want to waste money on an expensive restaurant when you could get perfectly adequate food for a quarter of the price in a cheap restaurant.

"It was a small example but it was the moment I knew something had gone very wrong and it disturbed me.

"I couldn't get the idea out of my head he would rather eat a burger than have a very pleasant meal. He was very wealthy but far too driven by it. I think our relationship changed a bit that day."

OK, so what's amiss then?

Well, so far as the story's been carried, Kirsten was tipped to Cronje's misdeeds after an incident with burgers in 1999.

However. It was in 1996-97 that Kirsten first came across Cronje's gambling issues.

Kirsten reveals how Cronje tried to orchestrate cricket's "perfect fix" in a one-day match against India in Mumbai in 1996-97 by calling the full squad to his room - without coach Bob Woolmer - to discuss an offer from a local bookmaker.

"'We have been offered a lot of money to throw a game', he said. I swear you could have heard a pin drop at that moment," Kirsten wrote.

"Nobody moved a muscle. In retrospect I think I had gone into instant shock. Even if I had wanted to speak I would have been unable to. Hansie carried on talking slowly but clearly.

Now, I'm not suggesting Kirsten has done anything wrong, but whether it's down to the journalist, Crash Craddock, or Kirsten, the time-frame is ballsed up.

Didn't Kirsten being asked to fix a match tip him to the problem?

And if the whole South African team was in on an alleged fix back in 1996-97, how come more hasn't been made of it?

CURSIVE RIGHTING

If it happens you've arrived here from Harry Hutton's notorious profanity blog with the express purpose of being, you know, "funny" by swearing and cursing and generally writing hideous things, please do me the courtesy of at least spelling your nastiness correctly.

I appreciate context and precision, you understand.

And by "spelling your nastiness", I don't mean Y-O-U-R N-A ... etc. That would be particularly un-fucking-funny.

TRAILER PARKED

Remember the hoons?

Well, I guess the local council got sick of cleaning up donuts, fixing road-signs and taking calls from irate residents. They plonked Sam in the car-park. Sam was only there for a few days, but I'm sure the kiddies were happy to know they were travelling at almost --_--- kilometers per hour.

By the way, that's sunny Melbourne in the background. Nice, isn't it?

SINGLES GOING STEADY

The Kinks, The Who, The Small Faces, The Beatles.

But why take my word for it?

The Singles - Better Than Before

Man könnte es unverschämt nennen, wie schnell sich hier Einflüsse und Parallelen aufzählen lassen ... hätten es die Jungs aus Detroit nicht so unheimlich unterhaltsam und unschuldig hinbekommen, das Vorhandene für sich zu nutzen. Moment, Detroit? Das kann doch nicht wahr sein. Seit neuestem klingen die jungen britischen Bands nach 60s Ami-Westcoast. Und Bands aus Mo-/White Stripes-Town nach Liverpool im Jahr 1967? Verkehrte Welt, offene Münder!.

Indeed. "Operated world, open mouths", hard to argue with that.

AGB Rating - Credit