In a radical departure for this column, Video Watch switches channels to the world of TV advertising. And where better to sample the delights of said ads, than the ultimate showcase of TV advertising — the NFL Super Bowl. It’s at half time of the Super Bowl where some of the best, most innovative, most
Eurgh. There’s no way to intriguingly weave a review of Hurricane that will leave you guessing and tantalised. Quite simply, Hurricane is the worst music video ever produced. It’s one of the most tortuous 13 minutes you’re likely to spend. If you thought Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut was breathtakingly up-itself, then you ain’t seen nothing
I’ve been putting this moment off for months now, but no more. The Video Watch spotlight wheels around to be confronted by something even brighter: the incandescent visage of a cherubic Justin Bieber. Why the change of heart? Well, clearly there will soon come a time when Justin’s voice will break and things will be
Thrash metal and war? It’s a perfect match made in hell. As natural a fit as Pavarotti and super-slow-mo sports footage, or Dwight Yokoam and Nascar racing. If you’re scudding along the Airport Road out of the Green Zone, what better soundtrack than the mayhem of chainsaw guitars and a voice that’s gargling razor blades.
Gabriella Cilmi (pronounced Chill-me, not Kill-me) has a new album. With the totally ubiquitous Nothing Sweet About Me behind her, Gab has new and very different fish to fry.
Mumford & Sons is a band. Which might sound bleeding obvious, but surely they could just as easily be a goldfield-era ironmongery firm? If I saw the words embossed into the cast iron frame of a pedalboard sewing machine I wouldn’t bat an eyelid. But riding high atop the Triple J Hot 100? Well, that’s
I’m guessing everyone here has heard of Sensation? It’s a giant international rave party franchise; enormous one-off events characterised by their all-white dress code. Click through the Sensation site and — whether it be Vienna, Amsterdam or Riga — you’re confronted by image libraries of countless thousands of luvved-up recent grads of Supermodel High wearing
If you’re an all-girl group and you’ve got Snoop Dogg sniffing around, it can mean only one thing: trouble. I hate to pigeonhole the Dogg, but if his press is to be believed, he’s not one to buzz you to commend you on your middle-8, he’s only after one thing… or in the case of
It’s nice to be occasionally reminded that the music world’s past present and future is neatly ‘yin and yang’ed by the Anglo bop of the Beatles and the Afro-American cruisey groove of Smokey Robinson. Occasionally a pop anomaly appears from another culture entirely, bypassing the conveyor belts of the MTV machine… and hundreds of millions
Guess what? Aqua — a loose affiliation of talentless Norwegian Eurovision rejects — has decided to wager its final shred of credibility on the decade that style forgot — that’s right, the ’80s.Apparently we oughtta ‘get back to’ the Reagan Era for some satellites, skinny ties, Top Gun, Twisted Sister, Mr T, moon boots, Dynasty,