Another Half-Arsed Music Blog Series

Today I had an idea for a new series of blog pieces while sitting in the bath. And like all great bathtime thoughts, it was positively steaming with nostalgia and self-indulgence. So here we are, you and I, staring at each other through the internet with expectation and anticipation tinged with just a hint of dry reptilian lust.

Hold yourself back from screaming in hot bouncing desire, but I am about to fling a bunch of songs at you based on the fact that I used to dance to them a lot in my teenage years at alternative clubs. But they're not just any only dancefloor fodder, oh no.

They are...

ALTERNATIVE FLOORFILLERS OF THE '90S THAT ARE NOW KINDA OBSCURE OR AT LEAST RELATIVELY UNLIKELY TO BE PLAYED COMPARED TO OTHER SONGS BY THE SAME ARTIST

That's catchy as all hell. Though if you struggle with it, just remember it as AFOT90STANKOOATRUTBPCTOSBTSA. You have no idea how much I am tempted to shorten that to 'STANK' for the next installment.

Enough chat. Let's play some fuckin' tunes.

Dub War – like Skindred, only the exact same band a couple of years earlier. I'm not exaggerating, incidentally – they actually were the same damn band. They changed their name because reasons, and had a bit more success. But for us children of the nascent days of metallicfusionhybridcore, they were mainly known for the likes of Strike It. AH YEEEH.

Oh, Pete Steele. You were such a massive weird Playgirl bastard with a voice that undressed anyone who inclined that way in a ten-mile radius. I'll forever remember you for your passive-aggressive love/hate relationship with your own subculture, your potential troubling racism (although equally potential hilarious satire) and awesome songs like this one.

Cradle Of Filth weren't always a ridiculous pantomime version of themselves. Once upon a time they were ridiculous pantomime versions of other, more Scandinavian black metal bands. During the latter period they actually seemed to take themselves seriously, which made it all somehow better. If you're going to go rifling through the apocrypha for cool ancient deities to pop into song lyrics, you might as well include some delusional teenage conviction while you're at it.

This Apoptygma Berzerk tune used to get played all the time, but, like, now it isn't? Like, their other stuff gets played more instead? Like it's different now? What's with that?

There's a misconception among old bitter idiots like me that DJs nowadays just play the big bands, whereas in the old days they found time for smaller bands too. It's nonsense. It's just that I, and others like me, no longer recognise the smaller bands. Because we're old and they're shit and everyone dies. I used to dance to this Rosetta Stone song all the time in a long-gone York city centre goth night that took place in a large ballroom with many patrons who wore very little clothing. Outside there was a takeaway van that would make grilled cheese bread rolls if you asked for them. I always had about four while walking back to my student halls. Summary: times now past were the fucking BOMB.

DUH-DUH-DUHDUHDUH-DUHDUHDUH-DUUUUUUH. DUH-DUH-DUHDUHDUH-DUHDUHDUH-DUUUUUUH. DUH-DUH-DUHDUHDUH-DUHDUHDUH-DUUUUUUH. DUH-DUH-DUHDUHDUH-DUHDUHDUH-DUUUUUUH. Rinse / repeat / fade out. Raging Speedhorn. Perfect for a quiet night out.

In front of unsuspecting nightclub punters in Preston, Lancashire I and several friends would form a shoulder-linked circle and madly bounce up and down and around the dancefloor to this System Of A Down song until we had achieved our goal of just fucking pissing off everyone in the world. This blog is probably a continuation of that original project, now that I think about it.

Look, Babylon Zoo just happened. Like a natural disaster or a flu epidemic or Curt Hennig's persistent time away from the ring due to injury. It's no one person's fault, so we just have to get on with things and try to build a new life of hope and fulfilled dreams and all that shit.

A prime example of a band who still get decent dancefloor airplay with some long-forgotten and deserving tunes that never get out there anymore. I'm sick as pigshit of hearing that one about not wanting to tidy your bedroom when great Rage Against The Machine songs like this are put on a shelf in a quiet room where grandpa can listen to them without interference from the kids.

Last one for this round. Nine Inch Nails, with a typically upbeat summer pop hit.

STANK will be back! Or not. You know how this blog goes by now. In the meantime, look out for a new Rough Guide coming next weekend/soon/eventually.