...or at least until we get overly excited and change our minds before the week is out.

Greetings fans and acolytes, we trust you are well.

Anyhoo...

This morning on the way to work (i.e. work for The Littlest Hobo is generally a day spent befriending then helping a hapless but well meaning Canadian family with some sort of moral injustice, resulting in them falling in love with me to the extent that they convince the reluctant father into keeping me as a family pet...only for me to enigmatically fuck off to the tune of an inappropriately cheery soundtrack), i listened to the following on my iPodog:

'Learn to Speak French'...useful self-improvement which could come in handy for any Hobo Adventures in neighbouring Quebec.

This led me onto...

Daft Punk - 'Alive 1997' and Alive '2007'...i was there...see the post below. You really can't go wrong with groovy French robots at 6am.

And ultimately...

Crystal Castles...WHO WE HEREBY NAME AS BAND OF THE WEEK! Cue the fanfare, Cap'n Schmoo.

Remember the sound your Sinclair ZX Spectrum 48k used to make as it loaded a game? Yeah? Well, add some fuzzy beats and a dash of indecipherable girly shouting and that's pretty much Crystal Castles' M.O. in a fruitandnutshell.

Bonkers, but brill.

We first came across the two-piece in about 2006 on the Digital Penetration Compilation. An album that showcased early Klaxons, The Presets and New Young Pony Club, to name a few. NB: the second volume is out now and is even more mentaler(ererer).

But back then Crystal Castles got nary a mention in any reviews of the album. Even i, Hobo, must confess to not giving them the due props when i reviewed the album for a popular internet-based music mag.

But with a name cadged from the She-Ra cartoon, CC's new eponymously titled album is a stonking headfuck of a listen.

Ethan, responsible for the bands Atari-style bloops n bleeps, must be a continent-sized insomniac if, as they they say, this is the music he hears in his head

And 'Singer' Alice Glass is not only a flailing electrorave banshee but hot as hell too. Almost makes me wish i was homosapien. God she'd get it Humany Style off me. Woof!

Start with one of the more 'conventional' tracks, such as 'Courtship Dating' to easing yourself into the frentic, blippy, static-electric fuzz of the likes of 'Alice Practice'.

Despite Crystal Castles being grumpy fucks and quite possibly compulsive liars they're definitely worth checking out dudes.

The Littlest Hobo and Captain Schmoo x

Nominations are now being taken until the end of May.

The Prize being eternal coolness in our eyes...i.e. there is no higher accolade.

Rules:

1. You may pick only one celebrity.
2. They must not already be ill, in ailing health or reported to be on the 'way out'.
3. You may not pick Sir Patrick Moore...since he is an English National Treasure, beautiful eccentric and a genius.
4. The Littlest Hobo and Schmoo retain the right to refuse / veto your submissions.
5. Whoevers celebrity dies first is the winner!

Peasy!!

So come on then...lets' have 'em.

The Littlest Hobo and Captain Schmoo x

I’m back!

And what a tough few days it has been. 3 days of constant struggle with numerous fiends. It all started Friday evening when the mighty warrior Carlos Exporto launched a vicious attack, but after a valiant fight I was victorious and was able to slip into my wellies and get the job done before sleeping soundly, floating above the bed.

After coming round at a ridiculously early hour on Saturday I noticed a strange smell following me around, I fear the devious Carlos may have deposited some rotting eggs in my stomach, but, unfazed I continued with my work and managed to severely deplete Carlos’s ammunition during the day, during some epic battles in the jungle.

Sunday saw the return of one of Captain Schmoo’s major foes…The poisonous one – A particularly vile character, hell bent on destroying Captain Schmoo and tarnishing my good name. With the assistance of my eastern European allies and the trusted VRB, I managed to escape relatively unscathed, with The poisonous one firmly put back in its box.

I have a strong feeling that Carlos may return this evening, but I know he is becoming weak and is likely to regroup and attack again later in the week. In the meantime I will be doing all I can to help SFC in their epic battle for survival.

Till next time my lovely Pie friends

Captain Schmoo

...seriously. it's you we've been waiting for.

...we're in there somewhere...

...in disguise though, as always...

...but on screen.

..well? can you?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c14T6Af8zJg

Nominations are being taken for the until the end of April.

The Prize being eternal coolness in our eyes...i.e. there is no higher accolade.

Rules:

1. You may pick only one celebrity.
2. They must not already be ill, in ailing health or reported to be on the 'way out'.
3. You may not pick Sir Patrick Moore...since he is an English National Treasure, beautiful eccentric and a genius.
4. The Littlest Hobo and Schmoo retain the right to refuse / veto your submissions.

So come on then...lets' have 'em.

The Littlest Hobo and XCaptain Schmoo x

Captain Schmoo's whereabouts are currently unknown...he was last seen donning the cape, tights and masked disguise and fighting alonside revolutionary guerilla's in South America.

Until we await his return, here is a review of a gig we went to...

Enjoy.

Love, The Littlest Hobo.

Whilst Björk's latest album 'Volta' wasn't poorly received, it nevertheless failed to garner the gushing compliments and hyperbole of previous efforts such as 'Vespertine', perhaps due to a return to the manic eclecticism of her early work.

However any doubts that tonight's gig, one of three sell-out shows at the Hammersmith Apollo, will be merely 'ok' as opposed to 'utterly spellbinding' are quashed the moment Wonderbrass - Björk's all-female brass band come choir - stride on stage in full garish costume, flags protruding above their heads and 'Earth Intruders' jerky space march kicks off.

From the outset this is a full-on assault on the senses; a glorious excess of colour, light and of course that voice, which soars effortlessly over everything and everyone, always complimenting, never detracting from the music.

In her reflective rainbow patterned outfit, florescent forehead paint and headdress, Ms Gudmundsdottir skips and shimmies and twirls about the stage like a technicolor fairy, firing hundreds of tiny streamers from her fingertips into the crowd (how? we have no idea!) who respond with a spontaneous 'woooooo!' as if watching fireworks, which metaphorically we kind of are.

Tonight is not much a concert, more a hybrid of the West End version of the Lion King and full-on rave.

After 'Earth Intruders' opening salvo the mood calms beautifully to slow-paced gorgeousness, to coin a Björk-ism.

Two duets follow. Firstly with Anthony Hegarty - whose velvety croon brings 'The Dull Flame of Desire' to a slow burning crescendo - and then Malian musician Toumani Diabaté on the stunning 'Hope'.

Anyone sniffily inclined to turn their noses up at anything vaguely resembling 'world music' ought to see this guy play. Diabaté shuffles arthritically onto the stage but when he begins to pluck his kora's numerous strings those aging fingers become a lightning quick blur of dexterity and prowess. Only the mentally inert could possibly fail to be amazed.

Throughout, Björk leans heavily on her new material. The only tunes culled from 'Debut' and 'Post' are 'The Anchor Song', 'Hyperballad' (on which the crowd happily sing the first verse) and an almost techno version of 'Army of Me'.

The latter two songs end in a cacophony of hardcore, Daft Punk-style beats, strobes and lasers. Not to mention a bassline that rattles the scant change remaining in punters pockets after purchasing one of the Apollo's over-priced hotdogs and a beer.

'Pagan Poetry' is then perfectly, effortlessly dispatched, but we aren't fooled by the sweet smiles and cutesy 'thank yous' between songs; they belie the fact that this is 'New Politicised Björk'.

The night ends with a spectacular industrial version of 'Declare Independence'. At 42 years old Björk still has no intention of quietly avoiding confrontation or debate, recently bravely mouthing the words "Tibet, Tibet" when performing the song in Shanghai.

As glittering confetti is endlessly pumped into the air, the crowd responds to her screamed insistence to "Raise your flag!" with the required "Higher! Higher!" Wonderbrass surround her, dancing, removing their flags from their headdresses and thrust them into the air in unison (where was 'Unison' by the way? Its omission tonight is the only mild gripe).

It's a mind-blowing, synapse-shredding finale which leaves us to reflect on Björk's continuing refusal to conform or pursue any kind of musical direction that could be even remotely considered conventional; and this is why we love her.

She's well into her career and still a relevant global artist; utterly distinctive, unique, innovative and spellbinding. This is unequivocally art and executed live so dazzlingly as to be unforgettable.

Hyperbole, you say? Not a bit.

Ok, lets start with an easy one...and it's one for both the boys and the girls...

PIE.

That's it!

Peasy, huh.

We feel it's time to dispense with all this regionalist, internationally specific nomenclature when it comes to deeming a girl or guy 'fit' or a 'babe' or, well, whatever...

If they're 'pie' they're pie.

AS NICE AS PIE!

You with us? PIE.

Or, when you're feeling a little cute and don't won't someone to suss you, and what you're saying, you can be really oblique and just say say:

"Oh man, he/she is totally 3.14159"...pi see.

Ok, your go. Who is pie?

The Littlest Hobo is plumping for Natalie Portman or Alice Glass from Crystal Castles today.

I can't speak for the mighty Captain Schmoo...he is currently barbequeing for his caped hero frieds and probably imbibing...but i bet his nomination is weather girl related.

Next time...a less ogling-related post...it ain't what were about folks...we're beautiful humanists.

Might mention our freind Bjork who we went to go see in London...if yer interested?

She was Pie.

The Littlest Hobo, over and over and out x

WELCOME to the first posting of The Littlest Hobo.

First and foremost this is a music blog...music is, as CSS said, our hot hot sex.

However this blog shall be much, much more.

For starters, it's a secret society of in-jokes, slang we made up, questionable stories and utter nonsense...and you're all invited to join!

Everyday, I - The Littlest Hobo and my comrade in crime - Captain Schmoo - will be posting our irreverent thoughts musings and gobbledegook for your pleasure, on any or all of the follwing topics:

- Song of the day.
- Bands we love.
- Word of the day.
- Hobo and Schmoo's slang words.
- Album and Gig reviews...when we can be arsed.
- Songs for the Deaf - album reviews by our friend, Stone Deaf Steve.
- Emails we have exchange at work.
- The Continuing Fantastical Tales of Bob Runnypants (and idiot and liar we know).
- Musical 'Pie'.
- Celebrity Death Club...your nominations are welcome.

So come join our bonkers little world. Nothing will ever be the same again...