Wax Attack

This week’s hottest new single releases

Das Shittz – You Are Not My Daddy
The band recently reported their producer to the musical ombudsman after he bricked them up into a chimney until they got a drum snare right. The unmixed master tapes were later fired into the sky with a rocket launcher and magically came down again fully mixed and with added backing vocals. Despite all of that, it’s awful.

The Smarm Targets – (i wanna) get (inside your multiplying hut)
Operating on the lower end of the Neck Rock scale, the Targets here lyrically recount the incident when they rode their motorbikes straight through the Maths Tepee at last year’s Glasto. A musical based on their career opens next-month at the Maidstone Flying Clipboard and the band have booked the venue for the next eighteen years.

Froster Panhandle – 12 Quid for the Table, I’ll Leave the Chairs
Panhandle’s comeback single after his voicebox was removed by a judge. His pained gargling combined with the tragedy samples create a surprisingly laid-back vibe. All royalties from the sale of this single will be thrown into a hole.

Five Guys Named Bernie Mapplethorpe – This is This is This is This
Finally, a debut single from the renowned octogenarian ADD sufferers. Has none of the frenetic nature of the band’s chaotic live shows, although you can hear singer Whaffam’s bandy legs creaking after each chorus if you listen hard enough.

Le Squelch Cosmetique – Vinnie, Les Pouffes Militaire?
A ballad addressed to Vinnie Jones from the perspective of the spectre of Buster Keaton. In the song, Keaton quizzes Vinnie on his attitudes towards gays in the military. The long instrumental expanses after each of the ghostly funnyman’s probing questions have a haunting poignancy.

Pigeon Christmas – Summer Dance of the Feral Harlequin (single edit)
A chopped-down version of the second side of their classic neo-underprog album of the same name from 1973. Re-released after being used in a Vodafone ad, the lengthy spoken-word passage in the made-up language of ‘Bjinctura’ thankfully looms large here.

 

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Middle Class Parents Exhausting, Say Babies

INFANTS are finding it difficult to cope with their middle class parents’ tedious angst about their careers and ‘creative space’, it was claimed last night.

The Institute for Studies found that increasing numbers of babies born to liberal, middle-income households believed their parents to be self-absorbed dicks.

Baby Martin Bishop said: “This should be a great time in my life. Never again will I be able to projectile vomit over strangers without fear of recrimination, or get such delight from pointing at dogs.

“However my mum keeps bleating to her friends about how dealing with the contents of my bum is leaving her ‘creatively unfulfilled’, and my dad’s freaking out because he’s can’t find a quiet place to masturbate.

“It’s not like I’ve eaten their dreams. Well, not deliberately anyway.”

He added: “I’ve a nasty feeling this will lead to a ‘taboo breaking’ article for the Observer magazine about how ‘the moral establishment’ is trying to make decent people feel guilty for giving their baby to gypsies.

“The mere thought of it is giving me sleepless nights. Well, that and all the piss.”

Six month-old Emma Bradford said: “My parents are the sort of people who labour under the misapprehension that they would’ve done something really brilliant and clever had I not arrived and started shitting all over their CDs.

“Meanwhile my mum has just started drawing up a chapter plan for one of those books about her ‘struggle to regain her sense of self in the midst of motherhood’. I suppose this means she won’t have time to write that novel about a clever but emotionally confused young woman from North London.

“I fucking hate her.”