Feels So 'Wright, I Know It's Wrong
I am being stalked by the Wainwright family. For the last, well, for what's starting to feel like my entire life since I was born, I can't open a newspaper, magazine, TV Guide or fucking discount office furniture junkmail without being confronted with one or other of the hideous simpering self-adoring Pop Nepotees Extraordinaire. It's starting to make me a little bit crazy.
It was bad enough when we just had him, with his not-Leonard-Cohen-or-Bob-Dylan-bad-but-actually-irredeemably-awful nasal drone and omnipresent strutting guest appearances. Was anyone else seriously fucked off when they replaced John Cale's gutwrenching version of 'Hallelujah' with Rufus's whinefest on the 'Shrek' soundtrack?
Now there's La W, splattered all over the media like projectile vomit on a windshield, and I for one am feeling pretty hunted. I can't help suspecting this is all somehow connected to Hollywood's recent inability to fund a movie that's not a superannuated sequel or a remake of a seventies television show. It begins to take on the outlines of a terrifying if nebulous conspiracy.
Not to mention, every day it seems more and more of the Guardian's domestic news stories are written by a Martin Wainwright. Coincidence?