You Fat Bastard

No, not *you*, dear reader, that's the name of my new record, an anthology of crackin' tunes from Carter The Unstoppable Sex Machine. Big, loud, declamatory songs with a soupcon of rudeness and tongue in cheek fun. I *like* Carter USM.

I have an odd memory of listening to '1992 The Love Album' on my walkman two or possibly three times in a row while stuck on a bus crawling over Lambeth Bridge way back when (in 1992 I suspect). I was intimately familiar with that record - or cassette tape as it was (younger readers should note that "cassette" was an old form of technology).

Over the summer I had a yearning for Carter and was about to plunge into a frenxy of downloading and CD buying when I noticed that a new double compilation was due for release in October. I decided to bite my tongue and wait. I ordered it but the dregs of the postal strike meant that it only finally arrived today so I've been wallowing in loud brashness all evening. It's a great collection and the only disappointment is the absence of 'Suppose You Gave A Funeral And No-one Came', one of my favourites (but I might get '1992' anyway).

There's a fun little booklet written by Jim Bob from which I've now learned that their first records were recorded down the road from me in a garage in Mitcham (I never knew that). You've got to love the scallywags for the titles of the songs - 'And God Created Brixton', 'The Only Living Boy In New Cross', 'Twenty Four Minutes From Tulse Hill' - a south London lad's dream. And, as luck would have it, they're playing a 'farewell' gig at Brixton Academy on Friday and it's sold out (drat, why do I find out about these things so late?).

Anyway, enough words. I'm off to turn up the volume on the stereo...