Monday, November 13, 2006


These days I know it's hard enough to find a woman who can move one beyond lust, and to find two joined at the hip that can barely move me beyond pity is sadder still.

When you take the risibly small coin from your humourless taskmasters, I accept you're both only obeying orders, yet you could at least still do so with a modicum of grace - I mean, if you don't like something, just don't go, just ignore it, just move on. You end up coming across as really fucking shallow and, yes, pathetic when your sole means of critical expression is reference to age and testosterone levels. Sort of revealing that you say nothing of this about harmless old Pierre Henry, don't you think? Next you'll both be complaining that my 8-inch dick isn't big enough for you. Ooh, such bitches. And to think I get accused of misogyny... baby, I've clearly got a lot to learn.

Oh, and 'council tax'? Now what the fuck are you talking about?? Either your shaky receptive English language skills need to be quickly upgraded for that wannabe career in low-level music journalism you harbour, or else you need an urgent irony oestrogen transplant, because what you're doing just ain't working.

I shamelessly reiterate my earlier point:
I don't care who the fuck you are, because you'll never get it. Everyone knows how full your magazine is of petty conservative white male middle-class narrowmindedness and straightlaced attitudes, what perhaps isn't immediately apparent to most is how much of that is just dressed-up stupid lazy ignorance.

Sincerely, William.


Richard Molyneux said...

Honest words. Horrible, ugly little rag that appeals to the worst type of music fan.

Michael Begg said...

You know, amigo, that the tragic thing about this is that it makes me want to get the magazine to find out what all the fuss is about - having already decided some time ago that I wasn't going to waste any more time on it.
Are you absolutely sure that you are not an advanced bot programmed to raise the marketing profile of said mag through condemnation? It is you who'll raise the profile, not the source, you know. And 8" is dangerously large for a person who is only 4'3" tall, I think ;-)

Remember your John Gray, sir. Content means little in the entertainment economy and we are condemned - in the current state of things - to having no time for the past, for reflection, for iteration - beyond the hollow, tinny listing of names that fit the bill for waypoints to present fashions. There is only the surfacing of a name, a mag, a reviewer, a statement, a vacuous thrill as the hem of fame itself is touched... then the tide peels away, reveals the naked debris and the low tide stink - then returns with new names. You have been around long enough to know when the tide is due - there is surely comfort in this?
Who was it who spoke of music journalism as being the most tragic of professions because to all intents and purposes you were devoted to recording and evaluating that which you aspire to be but will never become on account of having no talent, patience, vision or conviction? Answers on a postcard to the usual trough :-)

Daniel Menche said...

Bravo! Your sword can not be sharp enough for that pathetic rag.

Keep on slicing!

seesselberg said...

The Wire merely gives credence to failed improvisers and reggae / jazz loving cunts who , like the average pop fan , immediately go with ' the flow '. 'Ooh , Savage Pencil recommends back-porch blues'. Kiss my arse xx

bobdylansthumbnail said...

" there's no such thing as bad press"- daffy duck

charlie m. said...

I have skimmed one issue of the WIRE so I really can't make a desicion on the matter but your letter highly amuses me, I wish I could express loathing in such a way :).

Kristian said...

Yeah the comments on the Norway gig were pathetic and juvenile.
Nice riposte William.

O de FLANEURETTE said...

on the spot and nary spotty!

Anonymous said...


Yeah, there's nothing that says 'cutting-edge, take-no-prisoners iconoclast' like *keeping a blog*. Especially one hosted by Blogspot and *named after yourself*. The more I know about this guy, the less I care, the less impressed I am, and the more bothered by the idea that there's supposed to be something 'challenging' or 'ground-breaking' about such a self-serious huckster. Just to begin with, Wire-bashing is sooooo dull, and mostly baseless--or, rather, misdirected. If anything, the Wire are too *catholic* in their tastes and coverage, and too willing to give sensationalist, one-note jackoffs more serious attention than they desire (like William Bennett; I've never seen a single negative--indeed, less than glowing--review of a Whitehouse album in the Wire, to my perpetual consternation). The people who bash the Wire are usually bad writers who are genuinely narrowminded, putting all their energy and attention towards exactly one genre--and a genre which, more over, consists mostly of the endless repetition of a narrow set of aesthetically pointless (because at once depending upon the novelty of shock, and long-since divested of the same) gestures seemingly motivated by bullied-nerd revenge fantasies blown up to Trenchcoat Mafia proportions. Oh, but I probably just 'don't get it'. I'm 'weak.' Yeah, that's what the Trenchcoat Mafia geeks said, too.

"I mean, if you don't like something, just don't go, just ignore it, just move on." This is absolutely the stupidest, most cowardly position one can take towards anything: Why, exactly, should one just ignore something one disagrees with or dislikes? Why shouldn't one, say, attack it until it's been utterly destroyed, if one thinks it's deserving of such an attack--and, more to the point, if it's susceptible to such an attack? Very fucking interesting. A stop-picking- on-me prohibition against *all criticism* by someone who's made a living making tuff-guy songs about child abuse and torture. This from the same tin-eared jackass who dressed up Maurizio Bianchi's music in Nazi speeches and regalia, apparently worried it couldn't speak for itself--a gesture that I don't understand how anybody who likes Bianchi and is in danger of liking Whitehouse can ever get past. What does that say about Whitehouse's claims to truthfulness or substance, that they saw fit to doctor someone's work to make it more *obvious*? But that gesture, and every other Whitehouse swindle, should apparently be allowed to pass without any comment, from anyone. The only thing that strikes me as really 'extreme' about Whitehouse is their unavoidable hypocrisy: make a career out of some ostentatiously 'shocking' music, and then bitch and moan when someone actually takes you to task for it. Claim that they don't get it, with the insinuation that to get Whitehouse is necessarily to think they are, like, THE MOST EXTREME MUSIC EVER, DUDE!! EVER!!!!!! Sorry, but if you didn't like the review, Billy, just ignore it, just move on. Don't go and do what any college sophomore is wont to do and post some rebuttal on your *blog*. Your fucking BLOG, for Christ's sake. YOUR. BLOG. YOU ARE A MIDDLE AGED MAN. WITH A FUCKING BLOG. That is genuinely the cheesiest fucking thing I can think of, in terms of 'revenge' (and what else is Whitehouse about, finally, if not the catharsis of I'll-show-them aggression?). Hey, Billy, if you REALLY want to get at them, you should go leave a nasty comment on their MySpace page. That would be SO EXTREME!!!

"[P]etty conservative white male middle-class narrowmindedness." Right, because no one speaks for underclass minorities quite like *Whitehouse*. No one is more musically broad and inventive than WHITEHOUSE. NO ONE IS LYRICALLY LESS PETTY THAN ***WHITEHOUSE***. Give me an effing break all day long, forever; I want all the time I have spent humoring Whitehouse back. There is nothing more white, more male, or more middle-class than power electronics. It absolutely reeks of bored, pretentious privilege from people desperate to piss off their parents (excuse the alliteration). It depends on this pseudo-sophisticated pomo cult-crit bullshit edifice of rationalization to justify what something that's finally about as challenging and relevant as a really intense episode of Jackass. Yeah, there's nothing more "extreme" or "cutting edge" than raping a child. That says, like, so much about society and shit. Oh, but it's on top of, like, a sped-up KMFDM beat. Whoah. That's totally EXTREME. And, check it out--a creeeepy drawing of, like, a doll and shit. Presto, you've somehow catapaulted yourself beyond the understanding of any potential critic, just by consolidating a handful of teenage goth fantasies. Far out! Remind me again of why Whitehouse is more interesting than Marilyn Manson?

"These days I know it's hard enough to find a woman who can move one beyond lust, and to find two joined at the hip that can barely move me beyond pity is sadder still." That is, at best, a non sequitir. I can't figure out what he thinks that accomplishes. I imagine him typing that sentence and smiling self-satisfied, apparently ignorant of the fact that it literally does not mean a single parsable thing. Maybe if I attended one of his self-help seminars on, like, neurolinguistics I would get how it short-circuits rational thought and crap. [FIST PUMPING IN THE AIR] THIS IS SO INTENSE!!!!! YOU SHOW THOSE CUNTS, WILLIAM!!

"You end up coming across as really fucking shallow and, yes, pathetic when your sole means of critical expression is reference to age and testosterone levels." And yet, Bennett's masterstroke is to say that they need an "oestrogen irony transplant." Ah, right. *Irony*. I forgot, *he's being ironic*. What a joke. I don't see how this kind of attitude does anything but collapse in a single stroke the (tedious, rehearsed, get-out-of-jail-free) "ambiguity" that Whitehouse is supposed to be all about. Whitehouse is, at least functionally, nothing better than bad performance art; that isn't obvious from the product, which does occasionally hint at something interesting (although I still think the songs sound thrown-together and the production is undistinguished and hollow). But it's *glaringly* obvious from Bennett's response to his critics, which smacks of the same kind of huffy, hysterical defensiveness that any bad performance artist ducks behind. "You just don't get it" is absolutely the lamest response to criticism. No, sorry, second lamest; the absolute lamest is getting all sneery and name-calling, and pretending you've bettered your critics by being less 'naive' than them. But I know, he just doesn't give a fuck or whatever, I just don't get it, I'm weak, etc. I literally can't imagine anyone more boorish, or with less to say, who has gotten along for so long on so little. But maybe I'm just being "really fucking shallow," on account of I can't imagine what's supposed to be deep about silly S&M serial killer fantasies screeched over cheap-sounding drum machines, or embarrasingly effortful sound collages that are, indeed, genuinely pathetic.

What a fucking whiner. It's no wonder he's English. I sincerely, unironically hope--actively *hope*-- someone (preferably a woman) does actually fuck him the ass with a fluorescent light tube someday, and then smother him in a plastic bag. Now THAT would impress me.

Anonymous said...

It seems telling that you feel the need to compose such a meticulously calculated response, which is far from the wittiest thing that ever spilt from your pen, and then post it on your blog as opposed to say, sending it to the magazine.
Do you feel like a veteran who has earned the right to be respected and beyond this type of dismissive criticism? Your response really smacks of actually being hurt.

William Bennett said...

'christopher' and 'rootmarm': you'd make a great couple ;-)

your favourite huckster rests his case

Anonymous said...

I dont think so Bill. Between you and rootmarm I'd take you any day ;)

Anonymous said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
William Bennett said...

Maybe, though if you insist on calling me 'Bill', Christopher, you'll be safer with 'rootmarm' and her fluorescent light bulb. :-)

Anonymous said...

haha I dont insist at all, respectfully retracted.

Unknown said...


No matter how many words you use, or how much thwarted emotion you pump into those empty bile spewing sentences - it will never give you a way to fill that empty void inside you.

Its a shame. You must be trying pretty hard to maintain your shell of cynical dis-attatchment. Cynicism is the last refuge of the unimaginative.

Ego/power games means you are stuck, stuck at the 2nd circuit. 3rd can't engage. You can figure out the answers you are so desperately obvious to possess, which you try to cover up with power politics.

Yes, I understand the need for the answers. I hadn't any, for most my life.
But know this, even if you don't ever find then- its not all about Mind.
Even those of us, like myself can find this out. Without any answers. None.

But if you hide in that shell, its going to become part of your self. If it hasn't already.

And you will find, nothing. And die knowing you are forever lacking.

Funny thing, I found just about every real truth I had found myself, in Whitehouse's words.

"And only after the scourge that smites shall come the rod that consoles, if I may borrow a somewhat daring simile from Abdullah Haji of Shiraz and the twenty-third Psalm...
Well, I would much prefer to spend my life at the rod; it is wearisome and loathsome to be constantly flogging the tough hide of Britons, whom after all I love. "Whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth, and scourgeth every son that He receiveth." I shall really be glad if a few of you will get it over, and come and sit on daddy's knee!

The first step is the hardest; make a start, and I will soon set the hunchback lion and the soldier unicorn fighting for your crown. And they shall lie down together at the end, equally glad, equally weary; while sole and sublime that crown of thine (brother!) shall glitter in the frosty Void of the abyss, its twelve stars filling that silence and solitude with a music and a motion that are more silent and more still than they; thou shalt sit throned on the Invisible, thine eyes fixed upon That which we call Nothing, because it is beyond Everything attainable by thought, or trance, thy right hand gripping the azure rod of Light, thy left hand clasped upon the scarlet scourge of Death; thy body girdled with a snake more brilliant than the sun, its name Eternity; thy mouth curved moonlike in a smile, in the invisible kiss of Nuit, our Lady of the Starry Abodes; thy body's electric flesh stilled by sheer might to a movement closed upon itself in the controlled fury of Her love --- nay, beyond all these Images art thou (little brother!) who art passed from I and Thou, and He unto That which hath no Name, no Image. ...

Little brother, give me thy hand; for the first step is hard."


Unknown said...

"It is my misfortune and not my fault that I am bound to deliver this elementary Message.

"Man has two sides; one to face the world with,
One to show a woman when he loves her."

Unknown said...

" 11.There are purse-proud penniless ones that stand at the door of the tavern and prate of their feats of wine-bibbing.
There are purse-proud penniless ones that stand at the door of the tavern and revile the guests.
The guests dally upon couches of mother-of-pearl in the garden; the noise of the foolish men is hidden from them."