Here Are The Young Men & Uncle Peanut, the Reading-based duo with one of the longest acronyms in art-punk released their second album This Is The Standard Life a few weeks back; a glorious 22 minutes of spiky guitars, stuttering drum machines and venom-tongued rants that features guest appearances from Art Brut’s Eddie Argos, Billie Ray Martin and The Mayor of Kentish Town. We asked Uncle Peanut to take us on a guided tour:
Mark E Smith’s Still Doing The Fall
The aromatic wafts of coffee pourin’ through the peasoupers on every corner, the pluck n’ the boom of the band on makeshift instruments firin’ out to teens high on caffeine ‘n’ capstans , Dostoevsky in their pockets, jumpers billowed over their knees; the coffin tables of Le Macabre n the Formica Of The 2i’s housin’ the tappin’ toes ‘n’ fingers of the city’s young upstarts givin’ everyone ability and reason to start makin’ music any way they could.
This was punk.
The origins found way before 1958 ‘n’ its birth of modern jazz with Miles, Ornette ‘n’ Brubeck. The new generation was alive and sparkin’ on all cylinders.
Riding roughshod through musical history; citing sleeves ‘n’ heroes along the way, culminatin’ in honourin’ the man ‘n’ his band fer leadin’ the way fer many of us fer so long.
Decades of invention in music ‘n’ vocal dexterity made possible by the path cleared; Still openin’ doors fer all of us,
He’ll always be doing The Fall.
Billie Ray Martin
She’s a proper charm eh?
Me ‘n’ Billie got together in Berlin lookin’ fer somewhere to live ‘n’ we winked a lot. Fer a bit. Honest.
She couldn’t understand why I woz callin’ her so often.
Fred got a bit hot ‘n’ bothered ‘n’ he sorta pushed me to ask questions that we all find a bit uncomfortable at first… y’know…
Billie got more hot ‘n’ bothered with me phone calls ‘n’ so we did a duet to get it out of her system. Honest.
She’s warming to Fred now…
Hong Kong Underpants
Searchin’ through records in shops ‘n’ online, stumblin’ over Bryan Ferry ‘n’ picked my chin up from the floor findin’ that he woz signin’ & sellin’ his records fer £150 a pop… switchin’ on the telly seein’ festivals ‘n’ lounge shows ‘n’ chat shows ‘n’ bollo
Started me gerrin’ a bit peeved yknow… thoughts came into me head about it all…
now I don’t half like a few Roxy tunes ‘n’ heck, even some of the flicked fop’s solo works y’know, but some things are just plain wrong.
An ode to nu-culture; nu-artists, the state of this wave of ‘nu-rap’ as some reckon it.
It ain’t rap. It ain’t hip-hop.
Don’t wanna hear how many Ms yers got in the bank, don’t wanna see butt shakin’ over gold ringed fingaz…
Don’t care bout yer diamondz ‘n’ yer fake bits; two note tunes ain’t big or clever, ‘n’ everyone’s playin’ em.
Me n HATYM went stateside ‘n’ hung around the pools of LA; yeah. Naff. Videos ‘n’ parties with ching ‘n’ bling ‘n’ champagne ‘n’ real pain ‘n’ plastic 2D gangsta cartoonery that inspires wannabe wankaz.
Get a life. Get real. Get shot of the bling ‘n’ the bollo ‘n’ get out to gigz ‘n’ real talent writin’ tunes ‘n’ playin in toilets day in Day out.
Alright mate. That’s a bit random innit? Yeah mate. My Mrs got these peng trainers. Cost 200 quid. Yeah mate. Got me alloys on me Evoke done. Yeah mate. Standard. Gotta chip. Pickin’ up the princess from her Steiner school ‘n’ I’m late fer me frappacino in the neighbours’ hot tub. Yeah mate. Got me onesie ‘n’ me fags. Proper gauche.
Even in yer house.
Talkin’ bollo ‘n’ gibberish, with that swagger that braggers ‘n’ pockets full of burnin’ money so quick yer need more than a Louis Vuitton belt ‘n’ Gucci braces to help.
Does wot it sez on the tin.
Pop Stars Down The Pub
Yeah. We all wanna be popstars.
Indiekids are always indiekids. Idolatry ‘n’ fanaticism ‘n’ preenin’ ‘n’ pretendin’.
Dreamin’ of fortune ‘n’ chequebook genies ‘n’ fairy godfathers turnin’ yer carriages from buses to Bugatti’s, yer fresh creps to George Cox’s, yer SCs to Banksy’s…
High street uniformed towns lookin’ the same ‘n’ smellin’ the same with some piggy’s name emblazoned on yer chest ‘n’ yer ankles.
We’re all popstars now.
Part one of our True Story Trilogy.
Wanted to write a tribute to Alice Cooper’s tune that started the Pistols with Rotten’s jukebox audition in Sex on the Kings Road.
Gorras far as the name.
Decided to have a birrovva party with muckers from my past instead.
Went to the pub ‘n’ got talkin ‘n’ after a few, got hungry ‘n’ went next door to the Pizza place.
And Lo. They do 18” party pizzas.
Bought one. Went home with the posse and partied hard ferran hour with my guests.
Fights broke out over the last piece.
The lambrini didn’t go round much.
One milk tray each.
The Day The Hipsters Stole Our Look
True Story Trilogy part two.
We woz playin’ one of our first gigs in Oxford ‘n’ we pulled up to the venue on our penny farthings ‘n’ quickly munched through a bowl of Lucky Charms before we combed our facial hair before the soundcheck.
Some bloke saw us ‘n’ wrote a review as he must have seen us before the show ‘cos he kept referrin’ to us as ‘hipsters’. He got all our songs mixed up with the main act (now an international boomband with draws like Wembley) ‘n’ hated us.
HATYM got the idea fer making a tune out of it ‘n’ the song burped out, sharin’ word duties ‘n’ even havin’ a singin’ chorus with harmonies ‘n’ that.
Right. Me Quinoa Pops are gettin’ soggy…
Peanut Meets The Mayor
True Story Trilogy three.
Now the Mayor is good mates with Lenny Beige, ‘n’ we had a gig booked with him up in Camden.
HATYM had to bail out ‘cos he woz stuck at home after havin all his windows ‘n’ doors wallpapered over in a fit of pique. So it woz just me.
Got to Camden early ‘n’ had a mooch.
The story wrote itself.
Though about an hour after the ending of the song, I turn up at the venue only to find Lenny ‘n’ The Mayor in there too. Sharin’ the stage. Atmosphere like the start of a Big Daddy/Giant Haystacks bout. Without the leotards. Only ever performed this together once. It kicked off after.
Y’know that bloke in a queue that sneezes on yer face?
Y’know that bloke that squeezes in in front of yers?
Y’know that bloke that overtakes yers just to gerrin front?
Y’know that bloke that knows his rights ‘n’ starts swearin’ ‘n’ rantin’ at staff?
Y’know that bloke that’s gorra be one louder than yers?
Y’know that bloke that’s gorris kids ‘n’ needs them to beat everyone else at whatever they do? Except him?
Y’know that bloke that drives round roads with all lights blazin’ on the front of the car?
Y’know Black Friday?
Y’know Cyber Monday?
Y’know designer snobbery?
Y’know no compassion?
This Is The Standard Life is out now on Musical Bear Records. Watch the video for ‘Mark E. Smith’s Still Doing The Fall’ below: