May I add Mark Ronson to the long list of people I find irritating? Just looking at him gets my goat. He's always making that face (see picture), with his lustrous hair (yes I'm jealous) artfully falling to one side, with that almost smirk coming through. Smug doesn't do it justice. I bet he spends hours in front of the mirror.
He's yet another flavour of the month. The tide will turn like it always does. I fail to see his allure. I don't think I rate anything he's ever done. That awful Valerie song, which has been played to death and is beloved by the sort of person with no imagination who phones in and asks for it on Chris Evans' all-request Friday show. It never really gets going, the vocals do not match the music, and it lurches all over the place and it's overlong. Next!
That terrible Bob Dylan remix he did - Dylan does not need remixing! Mark Ronson, you are not God.
And, what's more, winning the ludicrous GQ Maverick of the Year award. Maverick?! What's maverick about a boy record producer who's grown up enjoying the sort of fabulously wealthy transatlanic lifestyle a real maverick could only dream of. No you can't be posh and a maverick, it just doesn't work.
Finally, he's far too patient with Amy Winehouse. She needs her legs slapping, and he's the only one who can do it. So can you just get on with it then, Mark, so we don't have read any more about her stomach-churning self-pity. No one held a gun at her head and made her take drugs, did they? I imagine she thinks she's a tortured genius. But let's not start on her. This is all about him.
He needs a good shoeing.
Good day to you.
7 comments:
His Auntie Gail once trod on my foot at a Variety Club awards dinner. I do think he's talented, but he's about as maverick as the Queen Mum, and I know musicians who are as able but just never got the breaks that an international lifestyle affords.
He's got one of those faces that I can objectively see is well-proportioned and attractive, but which at the same time makes me feel a bit sick. Morton Harkett from Aha used to have the same effect on me. Wonder what that's about. Maybe it's a pervading air of smugness.
I caught a few minutes of Wino at Bestival on TV last night, doing 'Back to black'. The woman really is a car crash on stilettoes.
She looked like an explosion in a tart's boudoir, as per usual, and stuck only vaguely to the required notes, ditto, but what struck was her eyes – wide open and utterly empty, like she was staring through the audience into some vast, dreadful void beyond. Or something like that.
Btw, not sure about the new colour scheme, FC. I preferred the old one.
Well TT I think it's lighter and brighter, with a wintry edge.
Only in summer do we revert to the creamy background.
He looks startingly like my Dad as a young man, same type of suits too.
I don't mind his work, but I do disklike the fact that every other bugger's copying that 'vintaged up' production sound, and his showbiz back slapping grates a bit - apart from that he reminds of that bloke from 'This Life' who's made a ton doing voice overs.
He fucked that Smiths song right up the arse. For that, I can never forgive him.
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