Steel Panther are the best hairspray metal band to not have heard of since the dark depths of the 80s. They might change your life though. I interviewed Stix and Satchel. I am a broken woman.

It's all here on:

DISORDER MAGAZINE BLOG

Hey you,

Thanks so much for applying for the shoot! We've taken down everyone's names and their Heroes and we're in the middle of collating all the info and working out logistics.

Please be patient - these shoots will be going on throughout the entire of 2009, so it could take us a little time to get back to you if you're chosen.

We've had some corking suggestions and we always want more!!!

Thank you!

the Disorder team.

xxxx

From now on, pretty much everything is going to go here:

http://disordermagazine.wordpress.com/

PLEASE bookmark, and keep checking for giveaways and reviews and all that shit!

Wooo!

xxx

I am currently tucking into my favourite post-big night out lunch - Thai green curry with chicken, and a ginger beer from the best Thai food place in the E1 area, a tiny little place where the queue snakes out the door and they sell out of food by 3pm and therefore shut up shop. It's making my nose run and my stomach return to normal. The ginger beer is giving my brain something special and unknown so it's all good. My hangover has stopped reading me the Riot Act. Unfortunately, I now have to spend 30 minutes picking rice out of my keyboard.

I've also found an online radio station called ARFM, which basically is DJ'd by what I presume are older men who enjoy wearing leather pants, have moderate to large beer guts, and wear ponytails and call their wives 'the old ball and chain'. However, the music is quality! Everything sounds like Led Zeppelin, lots of men going 'oowwwwwoooohhhhh, yeaaaaahhhhhhh! and giving devils horns. They also play the Bud Lite 'Real Men' ads which make me laugh until I think, was that a bit of wee? Oh, and it's David Coverdale's favourite station, apparently. Which is like being given approval by the heavens.

The reason I am feeling a bit on the ropey side of things today was because of one of those amazing parties where the bar is free all night and the bands are super friendly and share their riders. Which means your body becomes like a cocktail shaker - JD, beer, Jager, vodka... yes, it was a bit like that. I was smoking in the loos and it struck me that a couple of years ago, that was the norm. We smoked everywhere. It was ace. Now I felt like I was being the naughtiest girl in school, covertly puffing and waving the smoke away hurridly. I MISS smoking inside. I miss relaxing into a chair with a pint and lighting up. I miss yabbering in nightclubs and bumming a light from the cute boy next to me as a way of starting a conversation. There is no romance in standing outside in the freezing cold (cos you have your coat in the cloakroom) and trying to smoke in under 3 minutes. I know it's better for our health that indoors is smoke free, but shit, I wish it had been optional for venues to have smoking or not rather than just clamp a law on it!

So much personal stuff has been happening, it's been all rather tumultuous and even a bit weepy, so I am not even going there. So lets talk America for five seconds, I, like everyone else, was delighted that Obama won the presidency. Everyone is like, that's amazing, the world is changing, things are going to be better, progress has been made, he's going to heal everything.

That's the problem I guess, because he's black it's almost as if we expect him to be like a Band-Aid on the economy, terrorism, on war, on America's relationships with the world. Surely any change will come from his Democratic siding and that he's not a gun happy, anti-abortion, God-bothering Republican?
I know you can hardly discredit him his race and the fact that he was elected despite his skin colour in a country where racism is still merrily cutting up pillow-cases, but surely it's just as bad to vote for him just because he is black to not vote for him because he is black. That's not progress, that's just a colour popularity contest, something that seems valid when it was noted that more Hispanic and Blacks voted than ever before. Surely they weren't all suddenly worried about the hidous state of the US health system and school curriculum? And what really clarified just how much his colour meant more than his policies was that as soon as we heard the news, everytime you spoke to someone the second opinion given behind how America has changed, was how long is it before he's assassinated? Yeah, so much for the winds of change!!!

Right, politics over. Sorry, minor rant there.

If anyone has a power shower and would allow me to use it for about half an hour (and chew up all your hot water as well), can I pretty please come over? I need to be pummelled by steamingly hot water to rid myself of the griminess that I accumulated from last night. No, i haven't washed yet. I am officially a grot. I woke up so late that I fell out of bed and put whatever I found where I lay. It doesn't smell too bad, but I don't smell too great either. I know boys who live on tour buses for 6 months and I think i even can gross them out with my severe lack of domestic abilites. Wanna see what your flat might look like if it was squatted in, then raided by a vice squad, then left to wild animals? Come on over!!!

I have to go to the post office. And they say publishing is all glamorous!!!!

xx
taylor

It's windy! Spitting rain! And so I must ask why do I have to be at work when I know that I would look/feel much better in my jimmyjams in bed with a good book, dozing at intervals and listening to some old blues albums... I wish I were rich so I didn't have to work. Just lunch. And party. And be decadent in ways that I am not even sure I know how to be yet.

So I know I was meant to be like a good little girl for the sake of my health but I was invited to Bureau last night, which is a new private membership thingy place - the irony being that I could never afford to be a member and they probably wouldn't want me as one - and so naturally it was all free drink (no canapes? hey a girl's gotta eat!) and lots of beautiful people swanning about (apart from the three bottle blondes with extensions made of dead rats, dresses by Peacocks and make up by David Dickinson).

Free champagne? Oh yes please, conveniently forgetting that I can't drink that shit, it's like catnip and sends me loony. So switch on lethal vodka cocktails. Cue me running rounD, shouting like a peg seller, making friends with the door girl and having a right old bitch sesh with her, the nice girl, and then going up to Peter Hook who was DJing and shouting, "'Ere, I just got all your reissues!" Hooky looked at me and was like, Oh yeah, right, really? "Yeah, I got them freeeeeee! Hahahahaha"
He played Born Slippy and I danced like an inebriated frat boy seeing jiggly breasts by a poolside. Ugh. According to Gemma, I ran up the street shouting 'where are my cigarettes!?' at people before (sh)ambling towards the tube. I walked into a lamp-post as I was texting (and squinting) and apologised to it. Hmmm, yeah, a bit like that it was.

I hate doing phone stuff when I am gilled up on liquid refreshments, mostly cos I say/text stuff that will only come back to haunt me. Had to check how Jontilicious was doing in his new job as cocktail shakermaker in some flash Leeds bar. He had only dropped one glass by midnight so he was doing pretty well.
Poor Chloe (who was torturing herself by attending the Fall Out Boy aftershow) got an earful from me over the mobila phona and told me a hair-raising story about the Rockstar who seems to be going through a mid-life crisis which has people saying bitchy things about behind his back. It's (he's) starting to get a little embarrassing. When you're 20 you can get away with it, when you're a LOT older than that, it's just like, sad.

In September, I had a dream about something bad happening to them. And guess what, it happened. No shit. It really really did. I don't like the implications that I a) hexed them or b) am some kind of freaky psychic, but more like karma does really come back to get you. Shouldn't take me for granted, dude. You might still have your suitcase! Hahaha. Oh, that's mean. And possibly untrue. I've already offered assistance in replacing stuff. I am sweet deep down.

Smaller Rockstar is still in LA and putting weird status updates on his Facebook. I want to shout, get yer ass home, I missssss you. Whatever whatever.

So, look at the pretty new issue. Ain't it just edible? (a friend of a friend is anorexic and she eats (toilet) paper so I guess this would be a week's groceries for her). I love this issue - it's so fucking hot. But I would say that right? Sorry. But you can get it here

http://www.disordermagazine.com/disorder/issues.htm

if you wanna snap one up and can't be bothered walking down the shops!!! I hope you all tell your friends about this mag cos word of mouth has got us this far and it would be most pleasant if we went even further!!!

Ooooh, Keanu Reeves is in town. He was having dinner/fucky times (allegedly) with who? Trinny. The man-faced cunt who grabs women's bit on telly. She's strikes me as an aggressive spear of asparagus with a deep hatred of women. You can tell that if Susannah got thinner than her, she'd kill her. I would treat Keanu well. I'd clean his ears for him for starters. Ear wax and nose hairs are just bad accessories on men! Sort it out, bay-bay. Yawn. I have the 5pm sleepiness.

I have to go cough up a tramp I mistakenly ate last night cos I couldn't afford McDonalds.

Ciao!
xxx
taylor

After a rather energetic weekend in which I managed to bleed copiously from my left knee, feel the brunt of Couple Sunday, not be able to blag my way into a gig and drink my very first and not only cider and black, I am now battling with the sensation of razor blades taking up occupancy in the back of my throat like Romanian squatters armed with machetes to warn off council workers ,and the kind of half sleepy, half feverish sensation of the serial caner.

Being at a party of a friend of a friend is always an interesting proposition. You have two choices - mutter in the corner quietly with all the social skills of a smelly hermit with leprosy and get viciously drunk to which people not-so-subtly stare and ask pointedly, who invited THAT?, or get swingingly merry, use the kind of charm that American presidential candidates employ and make a million new friends whose names you'll never recall, but you'll have 20 new friend invites on Monday morning....

I went for the middle ground; cling like a limpet to the one or two people you know and keep them close to you by bitching wittily about strangers. Later, most of us ended up in a late night gay bar until close at 3am, I walked out onto the road and slipped over. Bang, down I went like a bag of spuds. If that wasn't enough, as I struggled to my feet, I slipped over again and gashed my knee. My dignity was bruised, my knee really hurt. Granted I was wearing wearing very slippy boots, but the nice thing was that no one came to my assistance!!! Aaah, the English. My sister once saw a man have a heart attack on Oxford St and people merely stepped over him, which scarred her so much she never wanted to come back to London.

On Saturday night, I was confronted with my media mortality as I failed to blag my way into the Get Well Soon gig at the Forum. No way. Not that I was bothered, it was more Gemdrop's desire to go, so I positioned myself in the pub down the road that played The White Stripes, The Smiths and Nirvana, and supped a pint while she stayed at the gig. I spent half an hour on Facebook talking relatively smut with Smaller Rocker (do you send naked pics or not) and utter (but jokey) filth with my mate Jonty. When she returned I was all hazy eyed from talking tits and cocks without any actual action coming my way (no pun intended!) and had to go home on the last train, which unfortunately got stuck in a tunnel and we had to endure some upper middle class teenagers talking like a bad episode of Skins and drinking white wine from a bottle. It was like, well, HELL.

There's a reason I don't venture out on Sunday - the city is full of loved up couples looking dreamily at each other as they go for a nice lunch/IKEA/Tate Modern. It's pretty much like submitting yourself for excrutiating torture and screaming, is that all you've got!!!! Bring it on!!!! I am not one for PDA's, I find it just a bit nauseating. No, I lie, I want to throw acid on people sitting snuggling on trains or filling their pavement with their smugness so that the wildly independent souls of the world who have places to go and people to meet have to manouvere round these fuckwits like mines in the South Seas.

I am ready for a little kip under my desk. I have been mixing Xanax with Citalopram, which while gives you a great sleep (though filled with 20 foot high, Dolby surround sound style dreams) makes you rather dozy the next day. Add to that my impending lurgy and you have one very sleepy girl. So if my spelling is shit and my sentences incomprehensible, then I beg forgiveness and ask that you bear with me. Or even better, bring me a duvet and pillow.

xxxx
taylor

It's been like over a month since I sat down and scribbled this, so if you have been wondering where I have been at, well, I have been busy, squalid, dirty, bitchy, teary, bloody, kooky and most of all, battered.

It was my birthday on Sunday and I awoke to the howling of the wind, the lashing of the rain on my windows and so I looked at Mr Bear all bleary eyed and decided there was about as much chance of me getting out of bed as there was me turning on the bath taps and having liquid gold pour from them. So the duvet was masterfully wrapped around me like a fluffy cocoon of birthday denial and I went back to sleep. And slept for hours. In fact, I didn't even answer the phone to my mama, which made her apoplectic. No matter, she is there, and I am here and so I am safe from the mama-furies which tend to sneak up on me via email like those talking letters in Harry Potter and bash me around when I least expect it.

Friday night was the night for drunkeness and free drinks in light of I was adding another year to my declining mortality. It was boistrous and lost, many double JD's and even a shot of tequila, which for me is like Russian Roulette (I never know whether I will be singing from the rafters or lying sobbing my mascara onto the piss covered floor), but Lady Luck was on my side and after many drinks and too many scary photos, we launched off to a nightclub. It was emo/screamo and there was a band on (dunno, not good) and then afterwards were some pigs in wigs with fishnets and hotpants to grind to the music on an empty stage against some barriers. It was laughable and giggle we did. The poor lasses.

Some bloke grabbed my cute wee beret to reveal my Chelseahawk (if you don't know the style, check it!) and he looked at me and I looked at him and was like, dude, you have five seconds... hahahha. He gave it back in two. Good little fucker.
By the time I was ready for home, it was past 3am and I was hungry so went and shouted at the man at McDonalds for "shickn mcgunets", so I am surprised that I actually ended up with the chicken nuggets I wanted... I think they put all the graveyeard shifters on a special pissed-up-language course before they let them loose!!! On the bus home I had one of those teary moment when you're like, oh my god, I am eating McDonalds and I am really drunk, it's cold, there's a long walk home and one of my favourite people was meant to be here tonight but he's fucked off to America to wrestle Playboy bunnies or some such shite, and waaaaah!
Caught sight of my face in the bus window - stained with running mascara (waterproof my ass, Rimmel) and sweet'n'sour sauce... I had to laugh.

I was in Brighton last Tuesday night to catch up with the Rockstar who was in a remarkably good mood, such that he took me for dinner and I was inclined to give him something cute (get your mind out of the gutter, you tramps!). Then after the gig he took all his adrenalin and made it into something weird and proceded to be a strange creature whom I don't love as much. He proceded to chat up a snot faced Jade Goody lookilike, while I screamed outrage (whilst sat next to him) into my phone to Smaller Rockstar, who was bemused and tired cos he was flying to LA the next day. The highlight of the night was making a new chick friend who has turned out to be a class act and lives in the same building as a mate of mine. Weird!

Getting back from Brighton was a nightmare in itself. I had declined a lift back at 11pm so I could stay and party (bad decision), so it was back to the tourbus and a pass out on the downstairs couch before trekking back to the train station and bunking the 5.22am back to London. I listened to 'Suicide Season' on repeat ('Written In Blood' saved me that morning) before getting bailed up by an irate ticket conductor. Everyone else clean and spiffy, me reeking of red wine, cigarettes, make up streaked and broken, my eyes rimmed red... I looked up and gave him my most beseeching stare as I welled up with tears. He snarled at me, but let me get off at my stop. Staggered home, slept for an hour and got up for work.

Did a slot on Diesel DUM radio where I sounded like a trucker, but had an amazing time. Loved it, want to do radio all the time! This City and The Invisible came in and were brilliant!!!

Today I am off to a press screening of the Arctic Monkeys film (free drinks and the chance to ask Alex Turner if Alexa has ever fanny farted on his cock is pretty much the sole reason for attending), then off to see Innerpartyseason. Gorgeous. Their LP is mega pant inducing; dance, cry, be amazed!

My newest obsession is ESCAPE THE FATE. Thier new album is so fucking HOT! New singer (Craig Mabbitt from Blessthefall; deffo not as hot, a better singer, not as good a screamer as Ronnie Radke, bless his County Jail pert butt) and a new early MCR direction. Woooooooooooooooo! Seriously, I cannot contain myself, I listen to it every day and my eyes roll back in pleasure and my ears hop off my head and jig about the floor. Please please go look. Although can I just say Max Green looks like Chucky with piercings. What a seriously fucked up looking dude, like if you took away his dummy, sorry, guitar, he would come at you with a machete. Hmmm, maybe we should meet.

This looooong blog should have kept you entertained somewhat.
Dedicated to the ace train conducter and tomasinablueeyes, whom I miss too much.

x
taylor

Hahahahaa, after I posted the other day about being a fucking ANGEL but really bored and wishing I was falling over rockstars, I decided enough was enough and went out to play last night.

I ran into Lincoln and Matt from Cage The Elephant who are just sweet as cherry pie and so we hauled ass down to Garlic and Shots where I made Matt drink a chilli vodka shot. Now these are not to be trifled with, they make your nose, eyes and bottom water most heavily. But apart from some scrunched up face pulling, he managed admirably well. I had one called a Blood Vessel or Bloody Nose or something and it was fucking gag worthy. It had salsa in it I think, so it felt like drinking pulped up human. Really unpleasant.

I met a man who came up to me and said, I saw you on the platform for the train last night, you were wearing hotpants and you sat in the second carriage from the front.
Yeah, and oh my god, you creepy fuck! He worked in insurance. He was harmless I think but I am now wary that strange men sit and watch me on public transport. I am not wearing short shorts in public again if it warrants that kind of attention.

One of my rockers has gone AWOL, so fuck him in the jimmy hole, and the other one is away at the moment and I miss chatting to him for five hours every day. He's just chewy adorable in mass amounts.

I have never fancied Kings Of Leon. I know women's legs just fall open when they see them, I have witnessed it myself. However, I just watched the video for Sex On Fire and suddenly became a little hot under the collar. What's that about? It's just a good video and involves a damp Caleb being held down by his band mates... please don't let me seccumb to the Followill Fancying Society!!!

Off to one of those adult dinner parties tonight where it's bums on seats and wine in nice glasses. Maybe even candles!!! And conversation that involves mortgages and stuff. I am going to be the only single there. Aaah, one of those parties where everyone feels a bit smug perhaps that they don't have to use Rohypnol or copious amounts of Jager to get a fuck. Oh god. Actually, they are all mates, so I can't be too mean. Anyone fancy being my date for the evening? You must smell nice, have tattoos, cute hair and be squeezed into skinny black jeans. And be able to handle a few hours of conversation. Food and booze provided. That should give me at least no takers. Hahaha.

Oh I have to go do research. Or I am going to conduct the worst interview of my life tomorrow.

xxxx
taylor

Which one of us is plastered beyond repair????

Well so long summer,

Can you believe that it's already Autumn? I swear I only realised that it was August yesterday and now it's pissed off into the memories. And let's face it, summer was fairly pissy!

I'm writing this with a rubber band twisted tightly round my thumb, I think I'm in need of comfort but Mr Bear is safely at home waiting for me. Today has consisted of forgetting everything that I did last week and emailing frantically wondering which bands had been interviewed and who was still snoozing on their laurels. Of course, I managed to just confuse myself even more than usual. Which these days seems only too easy to do. Once upon a time it was all very organised but now it's just running about like a headless chook and panicking every hour on the hour. I think I need a higher dose of whatever fucking pills I'm on.

Yesterday I got bored. Having just spent two days confined to my bed rolling around cursing being a girl, I was pretty fed up and had already powered through two fat books so I was looking for some form of entertainment. I've had blonde hair for years and figured it was time for a change, so got my ass up to Camden and bought the brightest pink dye I could find and threw it in. Jesus. Now I have hair so bright it fucking glows in the dark. I should go stand on a cliff and warn off ships. It's not pink, it's PINK. When I woke this morning (and I am never the best first thing), I clambered out of my duvet and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and got a shock. So far it's been approval from those who have seen it, but I am not entirely convinced. I guess I'm gonna have to give it a week or so. Maybe it could fade a few notches down the neon Dulex colour scale since at the moment I feel like I am wearing a high visibility jacket on my head.

Getting over Reading was pretty damn easy as I was so well behaved it was untrue. Last year it was all rocketing around on enough booze to appease a room full of thirsty alkies, but this year was like a dry well. How dreary. You can see the Cage The Elephant shennanigans up on our main page NOW!!!! The rest of the Reading interviews will be up there, well, just as soon as we can.

Normally you could be entertained by my endless round on the London circuit of hell but because of my reduced partying capacity, there hasn't been much of my hijinks to talk about. I can tell you how much I enjoyed watching the ridiculous (but entertaining) Tudors series. Or that I found a miniature kite and flew it off my balcony one windy night... but that's just not quite as fantastic as falling down on Rockstar A and hijacking a limo now, is it? Oh, pants!!!

On the plus side, I have dropped so much weight from not feeding continously on beer. My jeans are falling down and my stomach is flat as a coin. My skin has a glow about the cheeks and I wake up not feeling like someone has repeatedly hit me about the head with a cushioned hammer. My liver is throwing a block party in honour of not being fat and diseased. I wasn't invited.

Tonight I am going out but now I am pretty much off the sauce, I am not that enthused about it. Egad! I miss my JD but that's about it. And a glass of red wine. White suddenly tastes a bit odd. Can I have my old life back please?

xxxx
taylor