Bad Vibes: Britpop and My Part in Its Downfall | Paperback

I once attended a performance of Luke Haines' Black Box Recorder' at The ICA, me and my gig buddy had had a bit to drink and as 'The Box' took to the stage I decided to voice my support for Haines recent pop strike (which was supposed to take place on the day his solo album was released). 'Pop strike, now!' I shouted, wittily. There was a deathly silence. Mr Haines peered out into the sizable crowd, trying to spot the culprit. 'I think someone just called be a ponce'. Afterwards in the ICA bar The Box were hob-knobbing with the oi-polloi (sic) and I attempted to apologise for the misunderstanding, my gig buddy though was intent on finding out from our new best friend when the new Sebastian Coe book was coming out (Luke Haines had recently recorded the soundtrack to the film adaptation of B S Johnson's book 'Christie Malry's Own Double Entry, Jonathan Coe was at the time working on a biography of B S Johnson, an easy mistake to make). Haines started to look around for other people to talk to. Needless to say I love Luke Haines in all his casual nastiness. Anybody who ever had the sleeper chip in their brain activated to buy an Oasis record should read Haines thoughts on the gruesome Mancunian twosome. What he thinks of Matt Johnson from The The would give the man with the worst bandname in history sleepless nights if he were still alive (is he?). And Damon Blur and Justine from Elastica, the Prince Harry And Chelski of Brit-strop? They don't want to be reading for this either. I'm off to write my weekly column for On Heat Magazine. Enjoy the book pop-pickers!

The message of this book is that there is litte reward for talent and ridculous wealth for mediocrity, but Haines' bitter pleasure in realising this fact is exquisite. Cursed by real talent, Haines is doomed to the shadowy margins but finds there the perfect sniper position, and my God can he snipe! The The, Oasis, Blur to name but a few get it right between the eyes. My personal favourite is his description of Brett Anderson as being more Grange Hill than David Bowie - how's that for accuracy? Critically astute, hilariously poisonous and completely aware of his own arrogance, this is the work of that most dangerous of creatures, an articulate rock star. Highly recommended.