My own artwork for this imaginary version. Yes, that is the “SUPER DELUXE” font.
…And yes, I am aware that the correct name for the album is just “The Beatles”, as in an eponymous title. No need to race down to the comment section only to find there isn’t one.
SIDE A:
Wild Honey Pie
Back In The U.S.S.R.
What’s The New Mary Jane (Esher Demo version)*
Blackbird
Piggies **
SIDE B:
Happiness Is A Warm Gun
Birthday
Cry Baby Cry
Revolution 9 ***
Long, Long, Long ****
EXPLANATIONS VIA ASTERISKS:
* Most people who have heard this have only been exposed to the rubbish studio version, which is an ungainly mess (although it is amusing to listen to if you’re in the right frame of mind). The original acoustic demo reveals it as a pretty good (and deeply eerie) sub-three-minute long number, with some particularly spooky harmony vocals and a much better take on the “freakout” ending. Shame about the lyrics…
** Ian MacDonald refers to this as “an embarrassing blot on [Harrison’s] discography” in Revolution In The Head, because a fuckwit by the name of Charles “Charlie Charles Marilyn Manson” Manson heard it and went bananas. Ian MacDonald didn’t understand punk, praised the horrible “stereo separation” on the versions of Beatles LPs available at the time, and when he first heard Bowie’s Low, he roared “Mother, this is too magickal for me,” and spent the rest of the day on the toilet. A grown man, scared of a record! Aside from that, good writer.
*** Fucking deal with it, Giles Martin.
**** As genuinely delightful as “Good Night” is, this feels more appropriate.
“Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree.” – Anon
(The above is widely attributed to Martin Luther, although it apparently only dates back to 1944 – a date that makes more sense given the implications.)
I remember seeing this clip go viral when it was originally uploaded. I was astounded then, as now, why this company thought it was a great idea to show Hayao Miyazaki a grotesque shambling data-creature and assume he’d give it the thumbs up. The phrase “This is an insult to life itself” needs to branded across the foreheads of everyone in the tech industry.
It is generally not advised to use default Windows fonts.
Arial is not Helvetica.
The colours of blue and orange may certainly “pop” against each other, but they don’t look right here, especially when compared to past Smiths sleeves. Also the whole blue/orange thing is insanely overdone, just avoid it.
While the artist name and title are centered to themselves, the full block of text itself is not. It is leaning noticably to the left, and people can think up their own HIGNFY-style punchline for that one.
The overall effect is rather like a CD sleeve anyone might have made when CD-Rs were a thing. Remember Nero Cover Designer? I used the picture of the kitten and the ducks more than once.
While this is straying slightly from the matter at hand, the proposed title for the accompanying album is shit and is oddly reminscent of a Children’s Film Foundation production from 1973.
Asterix in Britain (Astérix chez les Bretons) is a Danish/French animated film released in 1986; the fifth Asterix feature film, and the last from Dargaud Films. It is based on the book of the same name. The theme song The Lookout is Out was performed by Cook da Books and was based on Plastic Bertrand’s “Astérix est là” (the theme song from the previous film, Asterix Versus Caesar) but with a slower tempo, played with acoustic guitars and brand new English lyrics.
Cook da Books (also known as Cook the Books, Big in France and Da Books) were a British new wave band from Liverpool, England, formed in 1980. The band were signed to indie labels throughout their career, and much of their music was politically charged, though they also contributed music to popular film soundtracks. […] The initial line-up was Kevin Kunky Kelly (Guitar/vocals) Peter “Digsy” Deary (vocals, guitar), Owen Moran (bass, vocals), Tony Prescott (keyboards), and John Legget (drums).
This song came from a bit of messing about in the studio with a friend of the band named Digsy. Noel Gallagher was on drums and Digsy had the microphone, was singing about lasagna and just generally joking about.
Gallagher commented in Isle of Noises by Daniel Rachel: “If you wrote ‘Digsy’s Dinner’ now, The Guardian or the music papers would destroy you. It’s a song about going to someone’s house for lasagne – you only write songs like that when you’re free of inhibitions.”
And now, an extended interlude
Noel Gallagher roared down the streets of Neo-Tokyo on his hi-tech motorbike. Fuckin’ music’s shit, this, he thought. Fuckin’ load of banging, is all it is. Sounds like all that fucking typical poncey art student wank. Probably jazz! Nobhead music.
He stopped briefly at a crossing in the middle of the city’s main shopping district. There was no one around; it was all eerily quiet. He looked up at a holographic billboard. It read:
THE WHO ARE TOP
He solemnly nodded, the lights turned blue and off he went again.
There was something bothering him, something needling his mind. Something was off.
His bike soared down the majestic freeways that criscrossed the northwestern zones of this hypermodern city, which had risen from the wreckage of the nuclear war of 1988. He kept trying to remember something, but it continually evaded him. Something he had to make sure… make sure what?
He didn’t get any farther in thinking when he heard his brother’s voice.
“NOOOOOOEEEEEEEL!” he screeched.
Noel grimaced. What’s he fucking playing at now? The nonce.
Liam’s enormous, swollen mass swang into view from behind some skyscrapers. He was just an enormous bag of psychically disfigured flesh now, muscle and bone smashing their way through the buildings ahead; the people inside them had no chance.
Noel braked hard and flew off his bike. He landed hard – and then lay panting on the freeway, eyes wide. This is fucked. Proper fucked.
He staggered to his feet and nearly fell down again – he’d gone and fucked his leg coming off. He painfully stumbled back towards his bike, the Liam-thing screeching Noel’s name again and again. Out of the superbike he grabbed his big fuck-off gun – he had to kill him. Kill that fucker. He was an obscenity now.
Noel balanced the enormous laser cannon on his shoulder. He took aim – right between the eyes… fired.
An immense wave of gore and viscera exploded out of Liam’s face, and headed straight for Noel.
Bollocks, he thought. Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks.
And then the scene shifted
“Stop it, you fuckin’ nonce! Fuckin’ STOP!”
But Noel could not stop Liam. His younger brother was intent on riding the burning unicorn into the concrete sarcophagus of Chernobyl.
“The minute he hits the walls,” shouted Kryten from Red Dwarf, “It’s all over!”
Noel could only stand and watch in horror as his reckless lunatic of a brother smashed through the protective concrete dome. In an instant, the entire power plant bonded with Liam’s body and soul, the two merging into Liam Ultimate, a twenty mile high being made of radioactive debris. Liam Ultimate opened his mouth and out came a beautiful, cleansing fire.
And then a moment of clarity
“So we’re gonna reform,” burbled Noel into the receiver. “It’ll be like the old days, you fucker. D’yer remember the old days? They were great. I still fucking hate you. Everything was better then. You’re a cunt and I still fucking hate you. Everything was better.”
“I don’t know who the fuck this is, but you can fuck off for calling me at 3 fucking AM,” shouted Robbie Fowler. Click.
The land of dreams has staked its claim
Liam Ultimate was lecturing the young unicorns on the importance of sacrificing themselves in times of war. Kryten from Red Dwarf was smothering Noel with a pillow.
“Shhhhhhh,” whispered Kryten. Noel struggled under Kryten’s powerful hold.
Noel threw the duvet off the bed. “Who is this?” said a woman in Kent who he had somehow dialled on his mobile. “Hello? Hello?”
Noel held the screen of the mobile up close to his eyes. So bright and pure… like a cleansing fire….
Then the woman hung up, and the screen switched itself off. He dropped the phone and scrambled underneath the duvet on the floor, trying to shield himself from the many Paul Wellers staring through the window. He had to get it together. He had a concert to do, and he was going for a big final payday.
