TTY: Universal Music, the approach made to David Joseph, since denied by David Joseph

I've read it over and over and I don't see a denial. Just plans for the future and the fact they aren't releasing any songs by any artist concerning Paris. All John is saying is that he thinks it's a good idea, but he needs to know where the proceeds will go and he needs to hear from Morrissey and not Boz.

It's not a denial.
 
A

Anonymous

Guest
The U2 song is an insult to us all. Did you hear that bewigged nincompoop reading out those asinine lyrics? He could cover the money raised from his own piggy bank and spare us his nonsense.He never says anything political he just advocates charity which does not work. Do you know his wife owns a sweatshop?

I don't like U2, and it goes without saying (for me) that this song will be cringe worthy nonsense. But it is not really about raising money, it is about showing solidarity, and I expect many French music fans will appreciate it for that.

Google doesn't seem to agree that his wife owns a sweatshop.
 
A

Anonymous

Guest
And the final insult for Morrissey in this whole #ProfitFromParis debacle? U2 have written a new song to honour Paris. Why on earth aren't they recording their version of ITMAAP? What is wrong with Bono?

best
BB

[h=1]U2 pay tribute to Paris in new song[/h]http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-35021180

Well ! Well ! Well !
Didn't see that one coming. It's like live aid all over again. What a decent set of lads U2 are ! I shall buy this without listening to it ! Let's all buy it and get it to NUMBER ONE giving Silly Steven and ISIL DAESH the finger to get 4ckd ! ( #Paris for profit ? 4cki n disgusting )
Love and peace to the Eagles of death metal and all their fans.

Benny-the-British-Butcher
 
A

Anonymous

Guest
moz trying to skip thru the puddles in paraguay in an attempt to clear luxury hotel funds, via his performance a
yacht club.
maybe im confused, but isnt the yacht and golf clubs where the capitalist exploiters congregate to plan their evil deeds?
whats moz doing playing such a venue? is it the money?
 
A

Anonymous

Guest
The U2 song is an insult to us all. Did you hear that bewigged nincompoop reading out those asinine lyrics? He could cover the money raised from his own piggy bank and spare us his nonsense.He never says anything political he just advocates charity which does not work. Do you know his wife owns a sweatshop?

Let's just think about your first sentence for one minute.
Well it's not an insult to me and I'm sure others don't feel insulted by it and yes like yourself some will be insulted but at the end of the day you 4ckd up !

No worries

Benny-the-British-Butcher
 
A

Anonymous

Guest

This article doesn't say anything about "owning a sweatshop". It says that her fair trade clothes are produced in factory where workers get pay and conditions that are little more than the legal minimum in Lesotho. But it doesn't say she owns the factory. Plus, the website is junk, so I have no idea whether it's true or whether there is anything wrong with doing not much more than meeting legal requirements in Lesotho.
 

butley

Well-Known Member
The Frontman: Bono (In The Name of Power) by Harry Browne – review

Bono the philanthropist is nothing but a crony of bankers and neocons, argues Terry Eagleton

It is no surprise that Bono and Bob Geldof, the two leading celebrity philanthropists of our time, are both Irish. The Ireland into which they were born in the 1960s was caught between third and first worlds, and so was more likely to sympathise with the wretched of the earth than were the natives of Hampstead. As a devoutly Christian nation, it also had a long missionary tradition. Black babies were a familiar object of charity in Ireland long before Hollywood movie stars began snapping them up. Bono himself was a member of a prayer group in the 1970s, before he stumbled on leather trousers and wrap-around shades. Scattered across the globe by hunger and turmoil at home, the Irish have long been a cosmopolitan people, far less parochial than their former proprietors. Small nations cannot afford the insularity of the great.

Besides, if you were born into this remote margin of Europe and yearned for the limelight, it helped to have an eye-catching cause and a mania for self-promotion. Rather as the Irish in general were forced by internal circumstance to become an international people, so men like Bono and Geldof could use their nationality to leap on to the world stage.

Bono belongs to the new, cool, post-political Ireland; but by turning back to the old, hungry, strife-torn nation, now rebaptised as Africa, he could bridge the gap between the two. Even so, he has not been greatly honoured in his own notoriously begrudging country, or elsewhere. Harry Browne recounts the (perhaps apocryphal) tale of the singer standing on stage clapping while declaring: "Every time I clap my hands, a child dies." "Then stop f***ing doing it!" yelled a voice from the crowd.

Paul David Hewson's rise to fame also coincides with the postmodern decline of politics into spectacle. What more suitable politician than a rock star in an age of manufactured sentiments and manipulated images? Having strayed in from showbusiness, Bono can present himself as outside the political arena, speaking simply from the heart; but his fame as a musician also means that he has a constituency of millions, which means in turn that the political establishment are eager to have him on the inside. For all his carefully crafted self-irony (how ridiculous for me, an overpaid rock star from working-class Dublin, to be saving the world!), the inside is a place he has never betrayed any great reluctance to occupy. Since an outsider is unlikely to know much about global economics, he is likely to take his cue from the conventional wisdom of the insiders, which is why Bono is both maverick and conservative.

One result of his campaigning has been a kind of starvation chic. In this impressively well-researched polemic, Browne recounts how Ali Hewson, Bono's wife, praised the work of her company's Paris-based clothes designer for being influenced by dusty African landscapes. She admired "the way some of the clothes look like they've been worn before and sort of restitched … to incorporate the continent, in a sense". Hewson's Messianic husband, or "the little twat with the big heart", as Viz magazine once dubbed him, has been trying to incorporate Africa into his image for a good few decades now. Like Geldof, he inherited the social conscience of the 1960s without its political radicalism, which is why he has proved so convenient a front man for the neo-liberals.


In fact, as Browne points out, he has cosied up to racists such as Jesse Helms, whitewashed architects of the Iraqi adventure such as Tony Blair and Paul Wolfowitz, and discovered a soulmate in the shock-doctrine economist Jeffrey Sachs. He has also brownnosed the Queen, sucked up to the Israelis, grovelled at the feet of corporate bullies and allied himself with rightwing anti-condom US evangelicals in Africa. The man who seems to flash a peace sign every four seconds apparently has no problem with the sponsorship of the arms corporation BAE. His consistent mistake has been to regard these powers as essentially benign, and to see no fundamental conflict of interests between their own priorities and the needs of the poor. They just need to be sweet-talked by a charmingly bestubbled Celt. Though he has undoubtedly done some good in the world, as this book readily acknowledges, a fair bit of it has been as much pro-Bono as pro bono republico.

If Bono really knew the history of his own people, he would be aware that the Great Irish Famine of the 1840s was not the result of a food shortage. Famines rarely are. There were plenty of crops in the country, but they had to be exported to pay the landlords' rents. There was also enough food in Britain at the time to feed Ireland several times over. What turned a crisis into a catastrophe was the free market doctrine for which the U2 front man is so ardent an apologist. Widespread hunger is the result of predatory social systems, a fact that Bono's depoliticising language of humanitarianism serves to conceal.

Browne's case is simple but devastating. As a multimillionaire investor, world-class tax avoider, pal of Bush and Blair and crony of the bankers and neo-cons, Bono has lent credence to the global forces that wreak much of the havoc he is eager to mop up. His technocratic, west-centred, corporation-friendly campaigns have driven him into one false solution, unsavoury alliance and embarrassing debacle after another. The poor for him, Browne claims, exist largely as objects of the west's charity. They are not seen as capable of the kind of militant mobilisation that might threaten western interests.

Bertolt Brecht tells the tale of a king in the East who was pained by all the suffering in the world. So he called his wise men together and asked them to inquire into its cause. The wise men duly looked into the matter, and returned with the news that the cause of the world's suffering was the king.

- - - Updated - - -

Let's just think about your first sentence for one minute.
Well it's not an insult to me and I'm sure others don't feel insulted by it and yes like yourself some will be insulted but at the end of the day you 4ckd up !

No worries

Benny-the-British-Butcher

Benny The British Butcher knows I exist.
 
A

Anonymous

Guest
o my god, good for bono. hes actually doing something positive for the people of paris instead of trying to cash in on the tragedy like a certain humasexual we all know.

please no more long conspiracy theory posts we have enough of that nonsense with moz and reading them gives me a headache.
 
A

Anonymous

Guest
The Frontman: Bono (In The Name of Power) by Harry Browne – review

Bono the philanthropist is nothing but a crony of bankers and neocons, argues Terry Eagleton

It is no surprise that Bono and Bob Geldof, the two leading celebrity philanthropists of our time, are both Irish. The Ireland into which they were born in the 1960s was caught between third and first worlds, and so was more likely to sympathise with the wretched of the earth than were the natives of Hampstead. As a devoutly Christian nation, it also had a long missionary tradition. Black babies were a familiar object of charity in Ireland long before Hollywood movie stars began snapping them up. Bono himself was a member of a prayer group in the 1970s, before he stumbled on leather trousers and wrap-around shades. Scattered across the globe by hunger and turmoil at home, the Irish have long been a cosmopolitan people, far less parochial than their former proprietors. Small nations cannot afford the insularity of the great.

Besides, if you were born into this remote margin of Europe and yearned for the limelight, it helped to have an eye-catching cause and a mania for self-promotion. Rather as the Irish in general were forced by internal circumstance to become an international people, so men like Bono and Geldof could use their nationality to leap on to the world stage.

Bono belongs to the new, cool, post-political Ireland; but by turning back to the old, hungry, strife-torn nation, now rebaptised as Africa, he could bridge the gap between the two. Even so, he has not been greatly honoured in his own notoriously begrudging country, or elsewhere. Harry Browne recounts the (perhaps apocryphal) tale of the singer standing on stage clapping while declaring: "Every time I clap my hands, a child dies." "Then stop f***ing doing it!" yelled a voice from the crowd.

Paul David Hewson's rise to fame also coincides with the postmodern decline of politics into spectacle. What more suitable politician than a rock star in an age of manufactured sentiments and manipulated images? Having strayed in from showbusiness, Bono can present himself as outside the political arena, speaking simply from the heart; but his fame as a musician also means that he has a constituency of millions, which means in turn that the political establishment are eager to have him on the inside. For all his carefully crafted self-irony (how ridiculous for me, an overpaid rock star from working-class Dublin, to be saving the world!), the inside is a place he has never betrayed any great reluctance to occupy. Since an outsider is unlikely to know much about global economics, he is likely to take his cue from the conventional wisdom of the insiders, which is why Bono is both maverick and conservative.

One result of his campaigning has been a kind of starvation chic. In this impressively well-researched polemic, Browne recounts how Ali Hewson, Bono's wife, praised the work of her company's Paris-based clothes designer for being influenced by dusty African landscapes. She admired "the way some of the clothes look like they've been worn before and sort of restitched … to incorporate the continent, in a sense". Hewson's Messianic husband, or "the little twat with the big heart", as Viz magazine once dubbed him, has been trying to incorporate Africa into his image for a good few decades now. Like Geldof, he inherited the social conscience of the 1960s without its political radicalism, which is why he has proved so convenient a front man for the neo-liberals.


In fact, as Browne points out, he has cosied up to racists such as Jesse Helms, whitewashed architects of the Iraqi adventure such as Tony Blair and Paul Wolfowitz, and discovered a soulmate in the shock-doctrine economist Jeffrey Sachs. He has also brownnosed the Queen, sucked up to the Israelis, grovelled at the feet of corporate bullies and allied himself with rightwing anti-condom US evangelicals in Africa. The man who seems to flash a peace sign every four seconds apparently has no problem with the sponsorship of the arms corporation BAE. His consistent mistake has been to regard these powers as essentially benign, and to see no fundamental conflict of interests between their own priorities and the needs of the poor. They just need to be sweet-talked by a charmingly bestubbled Celt. Though he has undoubtedly done some good in the world, as this book readily acknowledges, a fair bit of it has been as much pro-Bono as pro bono republico.

If Bono really knew the history of his own people, he would be aware that the Great Irish Famine of the 1840s was not the result of a food shortage. Famines rarely are. There were plenty of crops in the country, but they had to be exported to pay the landlords' rents. There was also enough food in Britain at the time to feed Ireland several times over. What turned a crisis into a catastrophe was the free market doctrine for which the U2 front man is so ardent an apologist. Widespread hunger is the result of predatory social systems, a fact that Bono's depoliticising language of humanitarianism serves to conceal.

Browne's case is simple but devastating. As a multimillionaire investor, world-class tax avoider, pal of Bush and Blair and crony of the bankers and neo-cons, Bono has lent credence to the global forces that wreak much of the havoc he is eager to mop up. His technocratic, west-centred, corporation-friendly campaigns have driven him into one false solution, unsavoury alliance and embarrassing debacle after another. The poor for him, Browne claims, exist largely as objects of the west's charity. They are not seen as capable of the kind of militant mobilisation that might threaten western interests.

Bertolt Brecht tells the tale of a king in the East who was pained by all the suffering in the world. So he called his wise men together and asked them to inquire into its cause. The wise men duly looked into the matter, and returned with the news that the cause of the world's suffering was the king.

- - - Updated - - -



Benny The British Butcher knows I exist.

Read your post and have to say the U2 song (even though I haven't heard it yet ) is not an insult to me ! I'm also confident to say that I'm sure fans of U2 won't be insulted by it ! You however are insulted by it and that is your choice, I couldn't give a toss. So it's not an insult to everyone is it ?

Enjoy your week thingy ( forgot your name already)

Benny-the-British-Butcher
 
A

Anonymous

Guest
Bravo ! Love and peace to the Eagles of death metal for taking to the stage with U2 in Paris tonight.
Throwing my arms around them for no profit.

Benny-the-British-Butcher
 
A

Anonymous

Guest
The Frontman: Bono (In The Name of Power) by Harry Browne – review

Bono the philanthropist is nothing but a crony of bankers and neocons, argues Terry Eagleton

It is no surprise that Bono and Bob Geldof, the two leading celebrity philanthropists of our time, are both Irish. The Ireland into which they were born in the 1960s was caught between third and first worlds, and so was more likely to sympathise with the wretched of the earth than were the natives of Hampstead. As a devoutly Christian nation, it also had a long missionary tradition. Black babies were a familiar object of charity in Ireland long before Hollywood movie stars began snapping them up. Bono himself was a member of a prayer group in the 1970s, before he stumbled on leather trousers and wrap-around shades. Scattered across the globe by hunger and turmoil at home, the Irish have long been a cosmopolitan people, far less parochial than their former proprietors. Small nations cannot afford the insularity of the great.

Besides, if you were born into this remote margin of Europe and yearned for the limelight, it helped to have an eye-catching cause and a mania for self-promotion. Rather as the Irish in general were forced by internal circumstance to become an international people, so men like Bono and Geldof could use their nationality to leap on to the world stage.

Bono belongs to the new, cool, post-political Ireland; but by turning back to the old, hungry, strife-torn nation, now rebaptised as Africa, he could bridge the gap between the two. Even so, he has not been greatly honoured in his own notoriously begrudging country, or elsewhere. Harry Browne recounts the (perhaps apocryphal) tale of the singer standing on stage clapping while declaring: "Every time I clap my hands, a child dies." "Then stop f***ing doing it!" yelled a voice from the crowd.

Paul David Hewson's rise to fame also coincides with the postmodern decline of politics into spectacle. What more suitable politician than a rock star in an age of manufactured sentiments and manipulated images? Having strayed in from showbusiness, Bono can present himself as outside the political arena, speaking simply from the heart; but his fame as a musician also means that he has a constituency of millions, which means in turn that the political establishment are eager to have him on the inside. For all his carefully crafted self-irony (how ridiculous for me, an overpaid rock star from working-class Dublin, to be saving the world!), the inside is a place he has never betrayed any great reluctance to occupy. Since an outsider is unlikely to know much about global economics, he is likely to take his cue from the conventional wisdom of the insiders, which is why Bono is both maverick and conservative.

One result of his campaigning has been a kind of starvation chic. In this impressively well-researched polemic, Browne recounts how Ali Hewson, Bono's wife, praised the work of her company's Paris-based clothes designer for being influenced by dusty African landscapes. She admired "the way some of the clothes look like they've been worn before and sort of restitched … to incorporate the continent, in a sense". Hewson's Messianic husband, or "the little twat with the big heart", as Viz magazine once dubbed him, has been trying to incorporate Africa into his image for a good few decades now. Like Geldof, he inherited the social conscience of the 1960s without its political radicalism, which is why he has proved so convenient a front man for the neo-liberals.


In fact, as Browne points out, he has cosied up to racists such as Jesse Helms, whitewashed architects of the Iraqi adventure such as Tony Blair and Paul Wolfowitz, and discovered a soulmate in the shock-doctrine economist Jeffrey Sachs. He has also brownnosed the Queen, sucked up to the Israelis, grovelled at the feet of corporate bullies and allied himself with rightwing anti-condom US evangelicals in Africa. The man who seems to flash a peace sign every four seconds apparently has no problem with the sponsorship of the arms corporation BAE. His consistent mistake has been to regard these powers as essentially benign, and to see no fundamental conflict of interests between their own priorities and the needs of the poor. They just need to be sweet-talked by a charmingly bestubbled Celt. Though he has undoubtedly done some good in the world, as this book readily acknowledges, a fair bit of it has been as much pro-Bono as pro bono republico.

If Bono really knew the history of his own people, he would be aware that the Great Irish Famine of the 1840s was not the result of a food shortage. Famines rarely are. There were plenty of crops in the country, but they had to be exported to pay the landlords' rents. There was also enough food in Britain at the time to feed Ireland several times over. What turned a crisis into a catastrophe was the free market doctrine for which the U2 front man is so ardent an apologist. Widespread hunger is the result of predatory social systems, a fact that Bono's depoliticising language of humanitarianism serves to conceal.

Browne's case is simple but devastating. As a multimillionaire investor, world-class tax avoider, pal of Bush and Blair and crony of the bankers and neo-cons, Bono has lent credence to the global forces that wreak much of the havoc he is eager to mop up. His technocratic, west-centred, corporation-friendly campaigns have driven him into one false solution, unsavoury alliance and embarrassing debacle after another. The poor for him, Browne claims, exist largely as objects of the west's charity. They are not seen as capable of the kind of militant mobilisation that might threaten western interests.

Bertolt Brecht tells the tale of a king in the East who was pained by all the suffering in the world. So he called his wise men together and asked them to inquire into its cause. The wise men duly looked into the matter, and returned with the news that the cause of the world's suffering was the king.

- - - Updated - - -



Benny The British Butcher knows I exist.

This sounds like an interesting book and doesn't sound like it's just about Bono bashing, though it isn't exactly complimentary.

Here's another review -

https://lareviewofbooks.org/review/cui-bono-on-harry-brownes-the-frontman
 

Ketamine Sun

A Most Misunderstood Member
The Frontman: Bono (In The Name of Power) by Harry Browne – review

Bono the philanthropist is nothing but a crony of bankers and neocons, argues Terry Eagleton

It is no surprise that Bono and Bob Geldof, the two leading celebrity philanthropists of our time, are both Irish. The Ireland into which they were born in the 1960s was caught between third and first worlds, and so was more likely to sympathise with the wretched of the earth than were the natives of Hampstead. As a devoutly Christian nation, it also had a long missionary tradition. Black babies were a familiar object of charity in Ireland long before Hollywood movie stars began snapping them up. Bono himself was a member of a prayer group in the 1970s, before he stumbled on leather trousers and wrap-around shades. Scattered across the globe by hunger and turmoil at home, the Irish have long been a cosmopolitan people, far less parochial than their former proprietors. Small nations cannot afford the insularity of the great.

Besides, if you were born into this remote margin of Europe and yearned for the limelight, it helped to have an eye-catching cause and a mania for self-promotion. Rather as the Irish in general were forced by internal circumstance to become an international people, so men like Bono and Geldof could use their nationality to leap on to the world stage.

Bono belongs to the new, cool, post-political Ireland; but by turning back to the old, hungry, strife-torn nation, now rebaptised as Africa, he could bridge the gap between the two. Even so, he has not been greatly honoured in his own notoriously begrudging country, or elsewhere. Harry Browne recounts the (perhaps apocryphal) tale of the singer standing on stage clapping while declaring: "Every time I clap my hands, a child dies." "Then stop f***ing doing it!" yelled a voice from the crowd.

Paul David Hewson's rise to fame also coincides with the postmodern decline of politics into spectacle. What more suitable politician than a rock star in an age of manufactured sentiments and manipulated images? Having strayed in from showbusiness, Bono can present himself as outside the political arena, speaking simply from the heart; but his fame as a musician also means that he has a constituency of millions, which means in turn that the political establishment are eager to have him on the inside. For all his carefully crafted self-irony (how ridiculous for me, an overpaid rock star from working-class Dublin, to be saving the world!), the inside is a place he has never betrayed any great reluctance to occupy. Since an outsider is unlikely to know much about global economics, he is likely to take his cue from the conventional wisdom of the insiders, which is why Bono is both maverick and conservative.

One result of his campaigning has been a kind of starvation chic. In this impressively well-researched polemic, Browne recounts how Ali Hewson, Bono's wife, praised the work of her company's Paris-based clothes designer for being influenced by dusty African landscapes. She admired "the way some of the clothes look like they've been worn before and sort of restitched … to incorporate the continent, in a sense". Hewson's Messianic husband, or "the little twat with the big heart", as Viz magazine once dubbed him, has been trying to incorporate Africa into his image for a good few decades now. Like Geldof, he inherited the social conscience of the 1960s without its political radicalism, which is why he has proved so convenient a front man for the neo-liberals.


In fact, as Browne points out, he has cosied up to racists such as Jesse Helms, whitewashed architects of the Iraqi adventure such as Tony Blair and Paul Wolfowitz, and discovered a soulmate in the shock-doctrine economist Jeffrey Sachs. He has also brownnosed the Queen, sucked up to the Israelis, grovelled at the feet of corporate bullies and allied himself with rightwing anti-condom US evangelicals in Africa. The man who seems to flash a peace sign every four seconds apparently has no problem with the sponsorship of the arms corporation BAE. His consistent mistake has been to regard these powers as essentially benign, and to see no fundamental conflict of interests between their own priorities and the needs of the poor. They just need to be sweet-talked by a charmingly bestubbled Celt. Though he has undoubtedly done some good in the world, as this book readily acknowledges, a fair bit of it has been as much pro-Bono as pro bono republico.

If Bono really knew the history of his own people, he would be aware that the Great Irish Famine of the 1840s was not the result of a food shortage. Famines rarely are. There were plenty of crops in the country, but they had to be exported to pay the landlords' rents. There was also enough food in Britain at the time to feed Ireland several times over. What turned a crisis into a catastrophe was the free market doctrine for which the U2 front man is so ardent an apologist. Widespread hunger is the result of predatory social systems, a fact that Bono's depoliticising language of humanitarianism serves to conceal.

Browne's case is simple but devastating. As a multimillionaire investor, world-class tax avoider, pal of Bush and Blair and crony of the bankers and neo-cons, Bono has lent credence to the global forces that wreak much of the havoc he is eager to mop up. His technocratic, west-centred, corporation-friendly campaigns have driven him into one false solution, unsavoury alliance and embarrassing debacle after another. The poor for him, Browne claims, exist largely as objects of the west's charity. They are not seen as capable of the kind of militant mobilisation that might threaten western interests.

Bertolt Brecht tells the tale of a king in the East who was pained by all the suffering in the world. So he called his wise men together and asked them to inquire into its cause. The wise men duly looked into the matter, and returned with the news that the cause of the world's suffering was the king.

- - - Updated - - -



Benny The British Butcher knows I exist.



thanks for this post and the other link. Bono ..the true opportunist strikes again. But he means well,we think.

It's too bad that the haters here on Solo can't produce viable information that would give their tiresome finger pointing and name calling of M any validity. Which are only based on their assumptions and dim surmising with a heavy dose of sick imagination and nothing else better to do with their time.
 
Last edited:

BrummieBoy

BrummieBoy
thanks for this post and the other link. Bono ..the true opportunist strikes again. But he means well,we think.

It's too bad that the haters here on Solo can't produce viable information that would give their tiresome finger pointing and name calling of M any validity. Which are only based on their assumptions and dim surmising with a heavy dose of sick imagination and nothing else better to do with their time.

You are an entirely ridiculous creature. Morrissey was the opportunist who attempted to #ProfitFromParis
Bono, for all his faults, has shown how to do it, show how to gain publicity without causing offence. He may even have been sincere, for once.

There is no further evidence needed to prove that Morrissey=Vile Troll than Boz's email pleading for a #1 hit record off the backs of the dead in Paris. Of course, you live in your own private bubble of solipsism and.....yet...... you selectively choose which information suits your arguments whilst claiming that evidence against is purely 'personal'? When others offer interpretations, you insist no reliable interpretation is possible: until you wish to make one!

You are a true loon, the perfect example of a Morrissey 'fan'.

best
BB
 
A

Anonymous

Guest
You mean...A song that has Paris in the title, with an older dude that's a bit gay singing and younger guys on guitars? You're right, Bombastic Booze, there simply isn't one.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IkwYaclIa-g

and even bits of your ex-mate Tony V. in it.

How would the world ever cope WITHOUT you, eh, MD???
 

No1uno

Member of the Month™
Subscriber
You mean...A song that has Paris in the title, with an older dude that's a bit gay singing and younger guys on guitars? You're right, Bombastic Booze, there simply isn't one.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IkwYaclIa-g

and even bits of your ex-mate Tony V. in it.

How would the world ever cope WITHOUT you, eh, MD???

This ^^^ In my opinion, There is no other song in modern music that
aptly supports the people of Paris, and I don't even speak French.
 

Uncleskinny

It's all good
Subscriber
This ^^^ In my opinion, There is no other song in modern music that
aptly supports the people of Paris, and I don't even speak French.

Just imagine the scrambling of fingers opening lyric books had the massacre occurred in Brussels. Get a grip. It's opportunistic.
 
A

Anonymous

Guest
Just imagine the scrambling of fingers opening lyric books had the massacre occurred in Brussels. Get a grip. It's opportunistic.



https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kaC7ADXMaB0

Look at that. The world is so full of opportunistic singers, it's disgusting, really, innit Skinny. :(
... Thank God for honest and modest artistic Mancunians, never seeming to be scheming, who only live to GIVE!

Why can't the World just LET them!
 

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