In a True remonstrance of his Concerne to all Newcastle United followers My Lord Ashley earphonesHath instructed me, his Nieuwe Secretary of Musicke, to compile, threw sources Various and by Means of Free internet browse (free being a Thing that My Lord Ashley findeth Most Felicitous at all times) a Play liste of Songs and Ballades that may enjoynder a state of Goodly Cheer amongst his Wonga-cladde hoste, Cheering them to such an extent that they may be further Tempted to spend freely in his Shoppes and Tavernes that do adjoin Ye Manor of Sportes Directe, (and the playing field housed within, known to some low borne Ignorants as Saint James’ Park). And to Be HEARTY; even if Ye Lads are Bereft of a Goalscorer and a defence and the Forewardes are as Limp and as Sheepishe in front of Goal as a Parson sporting a strappe-on banana AND the whole idea of revelry at Ye Manor doth seem like a distant dream. Oh, AND not to abuse My Lord’s Reeve Pardieuw; even tho this man’s mouth doth sound like a Dalek on Ketamine.

And lo!, did the masses descende to Ye Manor of Sportes Directe at three of ye clocke, with Petitions that had ben photocopied like billy-oh, which posted a Remonstance against the Much Blighted Reeve Pardiuew, whose Babblings hath made many a Person of this Towne (and elsewhere besydes) scratch their heads in wonder at their madness and self serving arrogance that doth test the patience of Job. And lo!, unsurprisingly  the Petitions were nabbed at the Lychgates (ho ho) by the Sentinels posted thereabouts who often say they are one of us but take My Lord’s shilling and do his dirty work. Bugger.

And the day began to sour as much woe befell Ye Lads and Reeve Pardieuw as the leather hit the net twice and our defence and midfield look’d as if it had been Drugged with Draftes and Poysones that could have been sitting fermenting in the many Well Stock’d larders of the opposing Reeve Bruce. Two late purchases of renowne by our Long Lost Cisse briefly lifted Ye Lads from the foote of Ye List of Endeavour, but  a sharing of Spoiles against Ye Tigers is nowt flash in the bigger scheme of things. As that Musical Troupe from the Roundhead Citye of Manchester, Joy Division once stated in one of their many mournful and dolorous ballades, “Where Will it Ende? Where Will it Ende?” Consequently, Ye Ballades pluck’d out of the Starry Most for this game are long, and Concentrated and of Serious Import; as I’m chuffing sick of waiting for a win and these players to come good, and waiting for the manager and his lickspittle staff to piss off and take the Fat Controller with him so they can all go and circle jerk with Rod Liddle and doubtless Jeremy Clarkson and Brian Moore and Penelope Keith (why not whilst they’re about it, and the small one on Top Gear too) and I wanted to reflect my mood, got me?

1. Burial – Loner

2. Baaba – Obb

3. Ende Shneafliet – Voices Of The Dead

4. The Sweet Release of Death – Remember Moonlight

5. Carter Tutti Void – V1

6. The Space Lady -Major Tom

7. Innercity Ensemble – White 3

8. Shoeshine – Talk

9. Alles – Post

10. Luc Mast – TRIBE mix







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