Cock-a-Cola Christmas

Christmas is coming, and with it all the little comforts that make Christmas what it is. Like Christmas turkey, classic films on the telly, and the same red, Coca-Cola trucks proudly 'coming over the hill', as if we've forgotten they're the proud sponsor of our favourite Christian holiday.

But this year something else is 'coming'. In a new campaign for the festive season Coca-Cola have redesigned the advertising on their cans to really express how much they love and respect their adoring consumers. Santa can now be seen leaning back tugging on his massive Christmas-cracker, spraying all the good little boys and girls with his foam of white stars. For extra insult the mouthpiece is placed directly in the firing line of Santa's magic spray. Enjoy.

Now, the use of sexual images to sell consumer products is nothing new. Since the rise in subliminal advertising in 1957, marketing campaigners have used a myriad of different techniques and imagery to try and 'dupe' people into buying things they previously hadn't even wanted. Sexual images, said to appeal to the 'id' (primal) part of the brain are supposed to be the most effective in manipulating consumer desire.

Coca-cola has previously been caught out for using subliminal imagery. In Australia in the mid 1980's, a billboard poster was designed and the artist, for a joke put this crafty little tease in the bottom right corner.

Since Coca-cola was banned from supplementing their drinks with healthy amounts of cocaine they've looked for ways to make their products more appealing. In 1891 their slogan was 'The Ideal Brain Tonic' and was sold as medicine as carbonated water was thought to be good for your health. It isn't.

Since then the public have been treated to many more tricks of the mind. Slogans such as 'Coke Adds Life', 'Life Tastes Good', and 'Open happiness' have harrowed above us on billboards and bus stops, topped off with lasciviously smiling models 'enjoying coke'. Earlier this year a Coke Zero advert was banned as it linked Coke to promoting polyamory. Called 'Break Up As It Should Be' it features a man breaking up with a girl then being surrounded by strippers and Coke Zero. He then looks at his now ex and mutters 'call me when you want to have fun'.

With advertising rife throughout our daily lives and product branding painting images everyday of fantasy lifestyles, what kind of message is Coca-Cola trying to send out this Christmas; 'thanks for buying Coke, now bend over for Santa'? With a company so popular their Facebook page topped 33 million fans (second only to Barrac Obama's), can they be forgiven for this kind of blatant arrogance? Think about that when you're sucking on the nation's favourite soft drink, and have a Merry Christmas.

Murdoch's War

This is a savage time. A ruthless environment where men are constantly looking over their shoulders for fear of that grim reaper, recession. It's a time when competition is bloodthirsty, and in an already starving market the vultures are having a hard time finding meat on the publics bone. Naturally it doesn't stop them trying to pick the remaining flesh off the economically anorexic public and already-plumped Rupert Murdoch is wetting his beak with yet another fist-tightening venture.

In a recent web war with Google, the jewel-eyed media mogul has accused the news aggregate site of 'kleptomania' as they haven't been playing 'fair' recently, stealing advertising revenue by linking to Murdoch's news sites. Currently only 1 in 10 people pay for content online, and Murdoch seeks to change all that.

Announcing the recent plans to erect pay walls for his content on the web, readers will soon have to pay for online papers such as the Sun and the Times. Lifting the other middle finger firmly in the air, Murdoch is also teaming up with uber-nerd Bill Gates to create 'Bing', a search engine designed to rival Google and exclusively link to Murdoch's news empire.

Since the recession hit, UK advertising has been hit hard with online advertising falling 2.1%. This has had a knock-on effect on print journalism as people are more likely to get their truth injection online instead of over breakfast. Lacking in revenue, print publications have been falling like lead balloons, throwing journalists out the basket like sandbags.

Is this the beginning of the end for the humble print journalist? Fear not, a recent report from the KPMG suggests they're still a long way off from getting people to pay for content and entertainment online. However the public have been slowly spoon-fed the idea thanks to Apple's itunes and 'apps', and it seems we're getting a taste for it. How long before we're emptying our paypal accounts desperate to download the latest app to tell us to how to think because we've even forgotten to do that for ourselves?

The internet is becoming a bigger part in our lives every day, and like a crack dealer it's got us hooked and now it's preying on our weakness. James Harding (editor of the Times) promised recently to 'rewrite the economics of newspapers' with plans for 24hr subscriptions to online news sites, using slogans such as 'the first click's free'. I'm sure he meant to say 'hit'.

As a would-be journalist I'm not sure where I stand. On the one hand Murdoch's driving revenue to the very institutions I'm aspiring to, but something leaves a sour taste in my mouth. When internet users have been weaned on free content, and anything that begs a subscription will get hacked, cracked and exploited all over the web, how can one man seek to control content on the world wide web?

15 Minutes Before Fame

In a small forgotten corner on Whiteladies road, in the ashamed back room of Alter Ego, history was being made, as Wilder played an intimate set to around 50 fans on the eve of their signing to Rough Trade Records.

The Bristol Institute four-piece have been busy making waves with their brand of elctro/indie on the local scene for some time, with blood-hounded A&R people following closely in tow. Signing to an 150k record deal with the view of producing 4 albums, singer/guitarist Sam Craven definitely has reason to smile as he graces the stage to play with the feedback.

The band already look the part, with Craven sporting the classic 'Buddy Holly' specs, and a swoosh that would make Morrissey jealous. They kick into 'Eyes on the Radio' and the crowd are instantly engaged, though wired up by an audio electro-indie current. "It's all about energy, whether it grabs you by the balls or the heartstrings" Craven remarks as he rolls a well earned smoke.

They certainly know how to tease a crowd. Under the guise of 'keep em' wanting more' they played 3 songs, bowed and walked out. You can't blame them though, they've got a busy day ahead. "We've bought a bottle of champagne for the train ride' smiles bassist Jo.

They keep a certain modesty about the whole thing, "I'll know I've made it when I call my mum and tell her". Even when discussing the location for writing their first album they remain collected. 'We're aiming to start writing in January and have an album out in the summer, we were thinking possibly Berlin, or L.A', though Sam's girlfriend Georgie "doesn't think he'll work well in the cold". Maybe Berlin's off the cards.

Either way the band are living the dream "I quit my job on the 19th [Craven], it's so amazing to think I can make music full time". They have no illusions it's a long way to the top, but they're modestly pleased to be on the ladder.

Up In Smoke.

It's been remarked that we're living in an 'information overload'. Indeed a world that we are bombarded with choice, rhetoric, and information of all kinds, from all sides. It seems that now, even the decision to buy a pint of milk from the shop leaves you dribbling in a corner from sheer choice; skimmed, semi-skimmed, sheep, goat, cow, space alien from Mars?

Brand labelling and product information have become god in the eyes of the consumer, and we are drowning in a sea of weighted decisions and pro's and con's. This relentless abundance of choice has even strayed outside the legitimate area of business and has nestled it's chaotic head in the drugs market, and with it all the painstaking decision-making and confusing literature that comes with it.

There are more drugs on the market nowadays (legal, and not so legal) then there ever were before, thanks to new 'designer drugs' (that mimic the effects of their illegitimate brothers) and restrictive legislation that has forced the black market to react by creating underground drugs that are so far unclassified and unknown to the British public. Purple Parrot anyone?

The real problem comes from all the conflicting information the public are receiving about drugs. On the one hand the government have a classification system for a reason; for our safety and protection, right? But what are the public supposed to think when one of the chair's on the Advisory Council on the Misuse of Drugs (ACMD) gets fired for producing results that were accused of 'trivialising' the dangers of drugs, and interfering in political affairs?

Alcohol and tobacco were deemed more dangerous than LSD and and cannabis and this seriously ruffled the home secretary. However, this isn't the first time Nutt has raised eyebrows in the home office. In 1999 former home secretary Jacqui Smith was shocked at Nutt's remarks that ecstasy was less dangerous than horse riding, and in 2004, ignored the ACMD's advice not to reclassify cannabis to class B, causing Nutt to accuse Smith of 'distorting' and 'devaluing' scientific research. His most recent report however was the last straw, they'd had enough and this time Nutt got the boot.

This has spurred a large part of the ACMD to consider their positions. A move that clearly sends out a message; it's clear that political agenda has overruled science and the evidence is being ignored. If we are ever going to take the government seriously on their 'classification system' the evidence has to concur. With all the money in taxation alone in alcohol and tobacco would the government be to blame for protecting their 'little investment'?

Nutt feels that the public should be well informed, that 'We have to accept young people like to experiment, and what we should be doing is to protect them... We have to tell them the truth, so that they use us as their preferred source of information'. This attitude got David Nutt fired from the advisory council.

It's clear that in this information highway that is the modern world, it's difficult to know what is truth and what isn't, especially when the distinct sound of back scratching can be heard behind closed doors. When it took 35 years of prescription anti-depressants (promoted to psychiatrists by drug companies) to realise they weren't a cure-all for depression, can the public really afford to wait another generation to listen to the muffled screams of unpaid scientists?

Taking Liberties

So the grubby little piggies have been caught with grubby little snouts this week. They've been poking their greedy little noses in things that they've no right to, and I'm not talking about grandma's secret stash of truffles. No, this has the distinct flavour of hypocrisy, and which has no legal basis, but they've still managed to coin a name for their new hobby. It's called 'spot the domestic extremist' and you might already be playing without even realising it.

The police been sneakily taking pictures of people going about their law-abiding business peacefully protesting and have been creating 'potential criminal' profiles, gathering information on thousands of protesters' personal information as well as 'spotter cards' to help the swine's identify the 'potential dissenters'. All this information is linked to a secret database run by the Nation Public Order Intelligence Unit, which shares it's information with the England and Wales police forces and is responsible for policing rallies, protests, and political meetings.

In another misuse of police powers, automatic number plate recognition cameras are being used to track the vehicles of 'domestic terrorists'. One man with no criminal record was stopped over 25 times in 2 years after attending a protest to stop duck and pheasant shooting. This means if you've ever protested the war in Iraq, felt strongly about ducks, or were present at the G20 summit, chances are your name and photograph is on their database, and they could come for you, at any time, for any reason.

This has been made infinitely worse by recent legislation that has been clearly contorted and taken way too far. It started in 1997 with the Protection of Harassment Act, originally passed to protect women from stalkers. Now crafty players such as lawyer Harrovian Lawson-Cruttenden, have been working closely with firms to extend that law to apply (originally to animal rights demonstrators deemed to be an extremist) to any, and all protesters. This coupled with another law imposing bail conditions on suspects without charge means they can order protesters to stay away from any site and have even banned people from communicating with the public and handing out flyers.

All this of course, was done covertly. Until now...

The busybodies at the Guardian have been busy blowing the lid of this whole dirty little plan this week; a scheme costing the public a cool £9 million in public money. I wonder how they managed to justify that one in a recession? Individuals such as Dennis O'Connor, chief inspector of constabulary, have been pushed against the wall and now have the uncomfortable job of producing findings on their little project next month. A list of files that were 'not easy to count'. The home secretary was also backed into a corner and remarked 'I haven't issued any guidance [to police] on the definition of that phrase. The police know what they are doing, they know how to tackle these demonstrations, they do it very effectively'. Wriggle wriggle, squirm squirm.

This is just another step towards to the 'Orwellian' future the government is so desperate to push for. Whether it's in the form of sweeping injunctions, or the 'super-secret-super-injunction', it's clear there is an invisible force like a fat woman slowly trying to park herself on the British public. It's a good thing there is a push back from other 'information gatherer's' like the Guardian or we'd all be smelling crack right now.

In recent years we've seen a systematic whittling-down of our domestic freedoms. You can't walk to the shops in your dressing-gown these days without catching at least 5 minutes of fame. But does it really take an innocent man walking home to be clubbed to death to open the public's eyes? The wool is down my friends, and the big bad wolf is holding the sweater.

Last Shop Standing: A Tribute to the Independent Music Shop

Last Shop Standing is the new book detailing the recent decline in independent music shops over the country. Written by Graham Jones, a Liverpudlian born music distributor who watched the decline of over 3, 000 independent shops turn into a measly 540 in only the last few years. I caught up with him for the promotion of his book at Rise Records, one of the 'still standing' independent stores in Bristol.

It's a humid Friday afternoon and I'm already sweating from the steep walk up Park Street as I arrive at Rise. Most of the shoppers had already gone home with the days wares and what remained were the few hard-heads and bargain hunters still holding out hope for that perfect listening experience. There's no sign of Jones, though I wouldn't know what to look for anyway. Just someone that stood out from the crowd, possibly glowing like some kind of new messiah.

I grab a seat and soon a man walks to the front and commands silence. He's not the likeness of the messiah I expected. He's a humble man, sporting a tie-dyed, blue t-shirt, with what looks like a yellow submarine on the front. He seems like he's the kind of person you'd want in the pub, and his sermon reads like that of pub stories. His entrance into music came from a near-death experience. I guess there's nothing like careening down a steep hill in an articulated lorry with a suicidal driver to make you evaluate your life. Needless to say he survived the ordeal, and even came out of it with a stack of rare vinyl that his attempted murderer gave to him because they reminded him of his very recent ex-girlfriend.

Jones maintains that the tone of the book doesn't read like an obituary, and that it has in its pages of doom and decline, a feint whiff of optimism. From his 20 years in the business, working from ground roots selling vinyl-pressed fruit bowls on market stalls, to direct distribution to independent retailers, he seems like he's been in, out, and all around the industry. The book was originally designed to be a montage of the top 50 independent shops in the country, combined with many amusing anecdotes, like combining Bill Bryson with Motorhead. However, the book is more of a wake up call to the saturation of the music industry and how the independent shops have been hit worst since atrocities like adding supermarket CD sales to the top 40.

Despite these facts and the outlook seeming bleak, Jones reminds us that 93% of CD sales are still physical, and that the Internet hasn't been a major contributor, especially as the masses of vinyl-heads out there are reluctant to trust their precious wax to the Royal Mail. Independent record shops are still the sole stockists of limited release singles, and are usually the first port of call for promoting new artists, next to myspace.

Maybe the general public has forgotten about this little gem. Bristol alone has seen 5 shops disappear on Park Street in the last year, with many more on the out. Perhaps I was wrong in the beginning, maybe Graham Jones is the new messiah, at least for the withering independent music industry. His Bible, 'The Last Shop Standing' is on the shelves and is a must for all of those afraid of the apocalypse.

Big Green Conspiracy

It was kin to an act of god, and as devastating as the winning horse you bet your life savings on falling at the last hurdle. Just as the final preparations were being made to this years revered Big Green Gathering, it was unexpectedly shut down. But this was no divine intervention that brought this train crashing to a halt just feet from the station, no this was a force much more sinister.

The official statement from the Mendip District Council urged the 15, 000 strong army of ravers to stay away from the festival site as it had been forced to shut down over concerns over public safety, crime and disorder, and inadequate security and road management around the site. What this really meant was the landowners got slammed with an injunction due to take place 3 days before the festival, essentially all over the late submission of a road closure form. This was despite the fact the festival had already been granted licence at the end of June.

Since the new licensing act of 2005 festival organisers have had their balls squeezed until they were purple, by a freaked out, and power hungry government, intent on doing to every festival what they did to Glastonbury. Now every member of security has to be individually licensed, which means most of them are either ex-cops or jumped up, wannabe cops with their tongues firmly in their fellow officer's cheeks.

So after it was released Monday morning, after a hoard of excited hippies woke up to devastating news over their soy-on-rye breakfast and copies of the Guardian, the police were ready for the entourage that would be sure to follow, come Wednesday. Road blocks were set up around the festival site and the police have nicely staked themselves out to wait for brightly coloured backpackers, probably side-by-side by the same corrupt bastards that cashed their cheques for working security at the festival.

Rumours are going round that the Freemasons are behind this. That the festival organisers were visited by Satan in a George Bush mask in the night and told to stop the festival. Followed closely I expect, by a small pug with the face of Hilary Clinton. I bet if you go up to Cheddar at night and listen hard, you can still hear the bastards laughing in the trees.

The finger was further pointed by the Climate Camp group (demonstrators at the g20 summit) accusing the government of applying political pressure to stop the festival as it would increase funding and support for these environmental activists. They maintain that the government are running scared of growing dissent and are cracking down on all environmental protest. Remember this was once one of our civil liberties?

The bottom line of this is that Big Green now has to pick up the very large cheque, which has mostly been cashed now, while the government have schemed for weeks about pulling the plug and running with their profits. If I were the organisers I would be leading that mob on Wednesday shaking the fist that had been bitten firmly in the air. Whether this was a credit-crunching little earner for the government, or a more sinister, illuminated plot to crush the last of the resistant spirit in this country, one thing remains certain, those greedy bastards have once again wet their beaks and shat all over the smiling faces of the British public. We salute you!

The Great British Barbeque

Once again we are set for more 'tropical' weather this summer. Another way of dressing up the fact that it's going to be shit. But despite the weather there are still people crazy enough to try and maintain some kind of normal summertime behaviour despite the fact they are prone to being pissed on, without warning from a very great height. However, I feel it's a testament to the great British character that in heavy rain some people still want to make their barbecues happen, they've just traded their Hawaiian shirts for rain macs and wellies. Why haven't they invent a waterproof barbecue?

There is no better time than summer to get together with friends over a hot barbie and a cold beer, but this is not what I had in mind. But the show must go on, at least for some people, and the city of Bristol has defiantly lifted it's middle finger at all those black clouds. We will have our party, whatever the weather! For while most people are at home nursing the Sunday headache, watching the rain, sunshine, rain, sunshine, several local street parties have emerged around St.Pauls and Monpellier.

Now this is simultaneously a heart warming and an agonising experience to watch from the ivory tower which is the balcony of my flat. One man lights a barbecue on the terrace and has obviously gone to great lengths to prepare this feast. No sooner has he got the damn thing lit and the black clouds start to approach like a surrounding mob. He gingerly adds a couple of burgers and then, bam! The heavens start to open and what was a sunny lunchtime barbecue turns into a soggy mess.

However, unperturbed the gentleman moves his barbecue under some shelter and refreshes the burgers. It's all starting to look like a washout, no one's going to turn up for wet seats and soggy burgers, but you've got to admire the guys spirit. He carries on cooking solo, but wait! From the dark blanket of rain emerges a figure, and then another! Whether it was out of sympathy, or pure bloody-mindedness before long there was an entourage of people queuing up for what was probably now, sorrier than a MacDonalds burger.

Will barbecues and umbrellas become synonymous with our perception of summer? The Australian's must think we've gone mad, listening to Mowtown and dancing in the rain waving our barbecue tongs in the air. But still, it falls in line with that traditional 'stiff upper lip' mentality that I thought fell out of fashion when we handed over cricket to the West Indies. A kind of stubbornness that I guess draws people to a public barbecue in the pissing rain. If I was wearing a hat, I'd tip it to them, but I'm sensibly inside writing this instead of keeping the dream alive. Shine on you crazy diamonds.