Bangers and mashed

Or How I learned to stop worrying and love the Bang

Jan 20
I woke early but my attempts to actually get up were hindered by the fact I was too tired to move. Jetlag's hit. Brilliant. I read a bit (well, a lot) of my book. I'm reading Northern Lights by Phillip Pullman which is really good - extremely well-written and imaginative and far more violent and philosophical than a children's book has any right to be. I'm not complaining though, it will make an excellent film when that comes out this year and Nicole Kidman has been perfectly cast as a really nasty piece of work called Mrs Coulter.

But I digress.

After finally dragging myself out of bed and checking out, I moved to the D&D Inn on Khao San Road.

Now Khao San is the mecca for travellers in Bangkok, but after the plush environs of the hotel Maz had booked me into, the D&D was a bit of a comedown, enhanced by my jetlagged and slightly homesick state. It was basically a bed with a mattress that felt like it was made of concrete (this turned out to be good as it sorted my achy back out), a dressing table that looked like it had been there since the 50s and a bathroom that was basically a wetroom. This was more like it, I thought. Little did I know that the D&D is actually considered a palace in terms of places to stay for travellers, according to my friend Jessy who I would meet up with later. I've got a lot to learn.

I settled in and went to book a train to Phuket, try and get some beach time in before I start work. I decided on a night train, firstly because of never done it before and secondly I figure I'll be paying for the travel and somewhere to sleep for the night in one go. See? I can budget if I try. The lady in the travel agent was scary and not very patient with all my questions. But fuck it, I'd rather seem stupid than end up in bloody Burma or something.

There was no berths available until Monday night but I figured this was okay as it means I get to see Jessy before she heads back to Australia. Jessy is a girl I lived with last year for a few months. She's an Aussie who's basically been away travelling for about six years, all in all. She left London in October to head back to Oz with a quick stop in Thailand on the way. She ended up staying in Thailand for three months, getting her divemaster qualification and, well, partying of course. But now she's on her way home, and arrived on the 20th to catch her flight on the 23rd. But I had no idea when she was getting into Bangkok so I decided to get on with entertaining myself.

I hung out on Khao San Road a bit, trying to get a feel for the place. It just seemed to be full of middle class hippyish types and insistent tuk-tuk drivers who wanted to take me on a tour of the city for 10 baht. There's got to be a catch to that one, I thought. I had some food while I waited for my train ticket to be prepared and looked at my 'Groovy Map' which Tom gave me. It's quite good in that it points out various things you might want to see, bars you may want to go and things you may want to do. I decided to head down to Siam Square and catch a film.

After picking up my ticket I set off on what turned out to be an epic walk - it didn't look far on the map. Various signs made me realise the year is 2550 here in Thailand which basically means I'm in the future, right? Well I've seen the future and it smells - a kind of spicy/damp/petrolly smell that likes to hit the back of your throat when you least expect it. I must admit it's better than the tramps in Victoria. However. I sat on a bench after about five minutes to take some pictures of the Democracy Monument.

God, I was spaced. I stared vacantly at everyone walking past before deciding maybe I should get a move on. Coping with jetlag on your own is like being on a comedown - ie not entirely pro-active.

I came across the Golden Mount, a religious spot where lots of orange-clad monks like to hang out. It is, I suppose, a Thai version of a church and graveyard. There's lots of graves around the base in amongst all the trees and each one has a creepy-looking photo of the deceased above the Thai lettering which, I assume, tells you who the person was and when they lived.

I read the information sign and my guidebook to work out what the hell I was about to see and it seems it was just built it cos the ground was a bit dodgy here and they couldn't build anything else. I walked up lots of steps, getting increasingly better views of the city.

There were some nice bells I took a picture of. (See? Spaced.)

Then took my shoes off to go into the church-type place (temple?) itself. It was a bit dull. There was some religious relic in the middle that the King had put there (seemingly) as a reason for the existence of the building. I reckon it was an unwanted wedding present.

There were lots of Buddhas around. You can never have too many it seems.

Then I went back outside and sat there for a bit, taking pics.

Then I decided to get back on my way to the city centre. I took a picture of a market as it seemed very Bangkokian. My imagination really wasn't up to much, I'm afraid.

Eventually, after turning down a number of taxi and tuk-tuk drivers (none of them seemed to understand I wanted to walk), and sweating like Jade Goody in a curry house, I got to Siam Square. Christ it was hectic.

It's basically the shopping centre of Bangkok - three big malls and Siam Square itself which is so colourful it's like something out of a cartoon - and it was full of locals, mainly teenagers and families. Imagine a sleeker, bigger Oxford Street on lots of different levels; how it might look in, well, 2550.

I wondered around a bit, like a zombie, before checking out what was on at the cinema. Blood Mountain was the only thing of interest but I wasn't sure I could cope with anything that required thought process in my current mental state, and Night At The Museum wasn't on til half 10. So I gave up and decided to go back to Khao San.

I got a cab, got it for free cos all I had was a 1000 baht note and the driver had no change (ace!), went to my room and passed out. I woke up at nine, persuaded myself to go and get some food, even though the thought of a hectic Khao San Road seemed a bit too much. I really fancied a burger, something Western, something to make me feel more at home.

I was in the middle of thinking, 'Well actually do I really need any food? Maybe I should just sleep?', when Jessy called. She was here. And she'd picked up some hot Swedish guy at the airport. A mate and a man to go with my meal. Now going out seemed like a much better idea.

Jessy looked well, very tanned and healthy. I felt and looked like an anaemic snowman next to her. Frederik was the same as her, but I was so enraptured by what he looked like I totally forgot what I looked like, that I even existed. He wore a baseball cap with it slightly titled to one side. His brown hair underneath was longish but looked perfect. I expect he'd not even bloody touched it for weeks, the bastard. He's just one of those people who's effortlessly good-looking, who can pull a funny face, yawn, grimace, stand on his head and STILL be good-looking. He looked like a tennis player I can't remember the name of but slightly prettier. He was slim, but muscley.

Can you tell I spent most of the evening looking at him a lot?

He had a tattoo underneath one bicep - some Thai lettering he wouldn't tell me the meaning of. He said it used to mean something but now it doesn't. I understood, I have a similar tattoo. I asked him if Thai people understood what it said. He said yes, and that they gave him a funny look every time.

I have no photos of him, unfortunately, as my camera was charging. But I'm hoping that all my friends do this when we meet up from now on - bring along eye candy for us to look at while we catch up. Jessy saw him in the queue for the taxis at the airport, figured him for a Khao San Road type and asked if he wanted to share a cab.

He was a nice lad, if a little difficult to understand at times. When he spoke he slurred each English word, punctuating it with an 'aaaah' as he searched his brain for the next one. What became abundantly clear though, as we sat talking to him in the bars of Khao San, was that the seven weeks he'd been travelling around southeast Asia had been spent partying. He told us he'd planned to do a week in each place he wanted to visit but basically each time he'd found people to party with and just stayed, staying up all night and sleeping all day. And he still had a tan. Bastard!

A story he told us about doing ketamine in a bar in Malaysia merely hinted at his drug intake, as did his obvious fatigue. It was what he did when he was with us that really confirmed it. He was having trouble keeping his tiredness from overwhelming him so Jessy suggested he take some Sudafed to wake him up a bit. He went off to the chemist, and came back saying the woman wouldn't give him anything when he asked for something to keep him awake. No shit. Jessy went off for him and he was impressed when she came back with some Sudafed, explaining that she'd said she had a cold, no one's going to give you anything if you say you want stuff to keep you awake. He popped four of them without blinking. We shook our heads in amazement.

Inbetween all this I catch up with Jessy. It sounds like she's had a blast - becoming a divemaster and enduring the drinking rituals that go with that; having some adventures with Paul, our other housemate who was here for five weeks over Christmas. But they're her stories to tell, not mine.

The drugs made no difference to Frederik. He was yawning his face off and, while I was feeling a little more awake, Jessy was flagging as well. We headed to bed.

Jan 21

At breakfast Jessy was talking to another hot Swedish guy. She's a good friend to have around, eh? This one was more sterotypically Swedish - blond hair, blue eyes - and he was huge. He looked a bit like He-Man but with cropped hair, and was eating enough eggs to feed a whale shark. He told us he was having a house built here. Thailand is, apparently, to Swedes what Spain is to the Brits, and he plans to spend half his year here and the other half in Sweden. He must be loaded.

Jessy and I get a cab to Chatuchak market, which is in the north of the city. We tried to get a bus but couldn't work out how to for the life of us. The market was 95% locals, which was a relief after the Majorca-style hell of Khao San. There's more clothes stalls there than you can shake a coat-hanger at and I saw some nice smart gear that I can pick up closer to the time I start work. For now I bought some shorts (I keep spilling food on the phone pair I had, which wasn't attractive) and a cool Charlie Chaplin t-shirt, both for about two pounds. Amazing.

We also had coconut milk, still in the coconut and drunk through a straw. It felt like the best thing I had ever tasted, and, according to Jessy, is good for a hangover as it's more hydrating than water. Despite this the heat inside the market still got to me after a while and I started to feel sick. Some food sorted me out - pork and rice with a spicy fish sauce.

We had a bit more of a wonder round. There's everything you can think of there and, while the smells still throw me, I start to feel more at ease with being here now I'm getting to know Bangkok.

When Jessy had bought some presents for home (as well as some presents for herself) we headed down to Siam Square, booked some VIP tickets for Blood Diamond and then hit the shops. Jessy wanted to get some hair extensions before she went home and so we scouted hairdressers for an appointment. We eventually found a place that told her it will only take a couple hours so Jessy decided to get them done befroe the film.

I decided to go find a massage - my jetlag was up and down but always there so I thought that might make me feel better. I ended up just hanging out, wandering around. I hung out outside a 7 Eleven for a while, watching the world go by and took a picture of a telephone box. (I was feeling a bit vacant again now I had no company.)

But I was feeling a bit happier. I knew where I was. I knew where I was in relation to other places. I knew how to get back to where I was staying. This made me feel more settled. I scouted the shops for a bit, picking up a Batman t-shirt (I still have no idea what happened to the last one I had) for about two quid. I read Empire magazine in a bookstore, which got me excited about the film I was about to see.

Then I headed back to the hairdressers where Jessy's extensions were taking ages thanks to them not being able to get the colour right. I was fading as I sat waiting. Jessy told me to put tiger balm on my forehead to wake me up. It hurt. But it woke me up. To make it to the film Jessy had to leave without her extensions being cut and styled. She looked like a glamorous hippy from the 70s.

We got to the cinema and found that the champagne and nibbles we were expecting with our VIP ticket (as Jessy had in Australia) was actually fizzy pop and a biscuit here in Thailand. Ah well. We still got to sit in reclining armchairs. But not before we had to stand up for the national anthem. I'd been so looking forward to it actually happening that I couldn't stop grinning and thought I might get chucked out for not taking it seriously. I didn't though. Blood Diamond is amazing. Although I did wonder **SPOILER ALERT**

why it is Leo DiCaprio seems to die in every film he does. Perhaps he has it written into his contract as he's a snobby actor who won't ever do a sequel.

**SPOILER ENDED** I also spent the entire film trying to work out if his South African accent was good or bad. Jessy thought it was the funniest thing she'd ever heard and spent the first five minutes of the film giggling her head off. But flippant comments aside, it's an amazing film that educates you about world (well, African) politics and business, has frighteningly casual violence made all the more gut-wrenching cos you know this shit actually happens and there's no discernible 'goodies' or 'baddies' in the film, and is amazingly well-acted, all wrapped up in what is ostensibly an accessible action film plotline. I loved it, go see it.

Jessy and me came out the cinema feeling guilty that we don't do more to help the world and the people that are suffering in it and she told me she's never considered buying a diamond because of the decidedly dodgy business that goes on behind sourcing and selling them. I start to wonder how much other stuff we buy has such a dodgy history as some of the diamonds on sale and it starts to get me a bit paranoid. Anyone know of anything I shouldn't be buying for moral reasons?

Jessy asked me if I'd like to do the kind of journalism the Jennifer Connelly character does in the film.I said yes, but I don't think I'm really built for it. You have to be tenacious, quick-thinking and good at confrontation to get the real facts behind those stories. I am none of the above. I told her what I do (did) is easy in comparison, it's a game. You learn the rules, play the game, bend the rules on occassion, but really it's all unimportant and meaningless and everyone involved knows it. I realised I'm not missing it at all. At the moment anyway. Maybe I'll have an overwhelming urge to interview Harold from Neighbours when I get to Australia. We'll see.

We tried to get the bus home but, again, we couldn't work it out. I vowed to work it out and use the bus regularly before I leave. Khao San brought a falafel meal and another friend of Jessy's just arrived in Thailand. It's the place to be it seems. But I'd had enough and, as they headed out, I headed to bed.

One night in Bangkok

Well I finally got here. It was a long trip via Hong Kong, an extra 6 hours on my journey, but to be honest by this point I was past caring. I was on my way!

Met a guy called Ben on the first plane, a rugby player form Birmingham who was starting out on a seven month trip to Hong Kong, Thailand, Australia, NZ and South America. He's taking the break before he starts work on a real estate job in London in September. I was advising him to live in south London because, well, it's better innit? He was nice, cool, chilled. I wonder if I'll bump into him again.

I slept for most of the flight, though, after watching this formulaic romcom called Starter For Ten starring James McAvoy. So formulaic that even though the sound kept cutting out I still new exactly what was going on. I popped a couple herbal sleeping pills on the advice of my friend Eloise as she said she found she couldn't sleep when flying east. I wasn't sure about why that would be but wasn't taking any chances.

Hong Kong airport was... well like any other airport really. The only things marking it out as any different was that it is insanely clean and shiny. Both Jens I know would love it. It also has a really cool ceiling that's like something out of the newer Star Wars films. And outside I could see mountains beyond the grey mist that hung over the place. Oh and there were lots of Oriental-looking people. That was a bit of a giveaway I was no longer at Heathrow.

The flight from Hong Kong was notable only for the fact that one of the channels on the TV in the seat is a view from the bottom of the plane. They have a camera on the underbelly of the plane that is facing the front wheel so you can see what it would be like if you found yourself holding on to the bottom of the plane for dear life. Which is useful. As it was evening, and as the screen was quite fuzzy, once the lights of the airport had disappeared on screen and the front wheel was retracting into the plane, it was a bit like what you'd imagine Carol-Ann was experiencing in Poltergeist when that short, weird-looking woman was telling her to go into the light.

Anyway.

When I arrived I got a taxi to Bangkok rather than the bus suggested by Eloise. I chickened out to be honest. I was knackered and spaced and couldn't face trying to work out where to get off. It was a long journey into the city thanks to bad traffic and then the driver not being able to find the hotel. No one had heard of it! But we got there in the end and it was worth the wait. As you can see from the pic I'm not been slumming it. Thanks Maz!!



I settled in and got in touch with my friend Tom who had been here for two and a half weeks already. When he eventually found the hotel (it's near everything but it's tucked away) we went out to check out the nightlife. Tom wanted to see the ping pong pussy performance before he went (he left today) so we went hunting for it around some sex show bars in Nana.

I had to eat first and tried my first food from a street vendor. Sausage on a stick, chicken balls on a stick and pigs in blankets on a stick, all covered in sweet chilli sauce (emphasis on the chilli rather than the sweet). I loved it.

Then we scouted around the sex bars for this show. There were lots of girls trying to entice us into their respective clubs but none seemed to be doing what we were looking for. One bar was staffed by ladyboys and they grabbed Tom immediately, stroking his chest and trying to get him to come in. I stood and watched, laughing, but then one came up to me and started telling me about how the ladyboys in the other club over the way had had the snip but they hadn't. His voice dropped a decibel for a second and I stifled a laugh. I then felt my cock being grabbed and made a dash for it, having to yank my arm out of the ladyboy's grasp as he (she?) called after me. Welcome to Bangkok, Will.

We decided to head to the gay bars in Sala Daeng, if only to reassure ourselves of our sexuality. It was as you'd expect - lots of skinny Thai boys and a few older white men. I was amused to see that the usual gay pub/club rules apply the world over:

• the men use the ladies toilets
• nobody drinks beer apart from me
• it's never long before Aqua's Barbie Girl gets played
• Madonna will always fill a dancefloor

We sat in a karaoke bar for a bit, listening to an awful glam ladyboy singing awful Thai songs awfully, before we headed to DJ Station. I kept getting shoved, which annoyed the hell out of me until I realised that this is the Thai guys' way of getting your attention. Then I loved it.

We went on to the club GOD, which, with a brilliant lack of subtlety, stands for 'guys on display'. Looking around, I decided I had to buy a pair of jeans from this town. Everyone was wearing perfectly fitted jeans that weren't too loose, weren't too tight, and yet managed to show every curve of every muscle in every leg. Amazing.

We flitted around, getting lots of attention. We met a lad called Mickey who had just bought a bottle of whisky and wanted us to help him drink it. He's half Thai, quarter Japanese and quarter Belgian and is only here 'til May visiting family. He told me I looked half-Japanese and would probably be very popular here. Which'd be great if I had a taste for Asian lads, but I don't really. I'm going to have to develop one.

So Mickey plied Tom and I with whisky and cokes until five in the morning when the club kicked out. I was hammered but too hyper to notice it. I'd decided that before I leave Bangkok I want to dance on top of the dancing cage. Thinking about it now, it looks a little flimsy so might not be a good idea. Which is the only reason it's not a good idea, obviously.

Mickey tried to get us to go back to his place. We declined but I took his number, thinking it'll be nice to have a friend in the city. I headed back to Tom's hotel room, and woke up this morning feeling AWFUL. We decided to go to Wat Pho for a massage and tried to get the boat down there but none of them stopped at our pier. We got a cab instead and I was revived a little by some Pad Thai and an iced coffee - iced because it's bloody hot here. But a good hot - a better-than-being-battered-by-crazy-storms-in-Europe hot. I also had some pineapple on a stick but couldn't eat it all because basically it's A WHOLE BLOODY PINEAPPLE. Amazing.

Then we wandered around Wat Pho in a daze, unable to find the masseurs. Wat Pho is basically a load of fancy-looking, colourful religious monuments and temples, the most interesting of which holds a massive, and I mean HUGE (although he hasn't got much of an arse I noticed), gold leaf-covered statue called the Reclining Buddha, which is clever cos he's lying on his side.

We got the boat back up to our area of town. It was like getting on a London bus in that it was rammed full of people, but it vibrated a lot more (making Tom's nose itch) and had a nicer view. I'm going to get the boat as much as possible, I like it.

I was relieved to get back to the hotel as I was dying to just chill and nurture my hangover. Tom bid me goodbye and went off to try and get back into the UK (those storms look scary, man), while I tried to watch some film where Bruce Willis was shooting Jack Black's arm off. There's no photos of any of this (not even Bruce Willis shooting Jack Black's arm off) as I forgot to take my camera both times. I won't make a habit of it.

Should I STA or should I go?

Well I'm still in London. Bloody STA fucked up and forgot to mention that I'd need a paper ticket to get on the plane. They apparently left a voicemail for me on October 6th (or 9th, depending on which STA agent I speak to) telling me my tickets were ready to pick up. I didn't receive that voicemail, for whatever reason. But that aside they had both my email address and home address as well. And I went into the bloody store in November to sort out some visa stuff. Why didn't they give me the ticket then??

Anyway it's all sort of sorted now. I'm booked on a flight to Hong Kong before going on to Bangkok. I've lost my hostel but my dear friend Maz has kindly bought me an early birthday present and paid for a hotel for me for two nights. Although I seem very unlucky at times I'm also very, very lucky as well. (I also found 60p underneath the table in the cafe a minute ago - now that wouldn't have happened if I'd got on that plane last night.) All I've lost really is a day of my trip. And as it's my word against STA's as to whether that voicemail was ever left on my phone, I won't get any compensation. But hey.

After what was a weekend of the longest goodbyes ever, last night was a huge anti-climax! But I'm off now. Definitely. I think.

Just Jack

I went to see Just Jack on Wednesday night. He was brilliant. Here are some things that happened at the gig.

* Jack had an immovable grin on his face the entire evening. Although, with my amazing phone camera skills I didn't manage to capture it in any of my pics.



* Jack said, "Things are looking healthy." I like a man who uses understatement to make a point.

* I began to think Jack is dating his backing singer. He looked at her the whole way through with a mix of flirting, reassurance and 'isn't this amazing??'

* The old stuff went down well, particularly Snowflakes.

* When he sang, 'I don't want this night to end' in Symphony Of Sirens, he looked like he meant it.

* The songs sounded meatier live, better in fact. The boy's got this live thing off pat.

* Jack and his backing singer did a little hand clapping dance routine to Writer's Block. It was amazing.

* The most adulation was saved for Starz In Their Eyes, but Goth In The Disco, a track that wasn't finished in time for the album, also went down a storm. "I gotta say, I love doing that song," said Jack.

* The drummer fucked up during Starz In Their Eyes. No one cared. Jack still grinned.

* Everyone went home happy. Jack was still grinning.

Sounds of 2007

This is a piece I did for PA's music column a couple weeks ago and thought I'd put it on here as well. It might be all about new music but I've been listening to a really old dance track I've only recently discovered all afternoon!

:: MIKA
After clocking up an autumn of live performances that could give the late Freddie Mercury a run for his money, 22-year-old Mika is set to charm his way into the hearts of the music-buying public in 2007. Debut single Grace Kelly is a brilliantly bombastic taster of his album Life In Cartoon Motion, a collection which mixes the camp theatrics of the Scissor Sisters with sad tales that inspire both joy and melancholy in equal measure.

:: THE TWANG
The Twang are five talented boys from Birmingham who have been getting the likes of NME and Radio 1's Edith Bowman extremely excited. And, despite the dodgy name, rightly so. The intricate guitar work of Stu Hartland rivals that of U2's The Edge, while the songs themselves are uplifting, cocksure, funny musings on everyday life that build on all the best ideas had by The Stone Roses, Oasis and The Clash. These boys have taken rock'n'roll and are running with it.

:: REMI NICOLE
Not yet with a proper record deal, Remi Nicole's future still seems assured as the offers to sign her continue to pour in. Her voice lies somewhere between Corinne Bailey Rae and Lady Sovereign, and, rather than sticking to a particular style like those artists, Remi can do heartfelt acoustic strumming (Fed Up), bouncy Britpop (Na Nighty) and cheeky pop (Rock'N'Roll). Lily Allen has paved the way for sassy, alternative pop stars. Remi Nicole is set to fall in behind her.

:: SHINY TOY GUNS
Dubbed `emotronica' by popjustice.com, Shiny Toy Guns' music defies categorisation as it jumps from soaring U2-style melodies to dirty funk basslines that Peaches would be envious of on their impressive debut album We Are Pilots. While The Killers concern themselves with becoming a serious rock band, Shiny Toy Guns seem ready to take on their synth-rock mantle (they even share the same producer) and entice rock fans back into the disco.

:: ENTER SHIKARI
With the more hardcore end of rock music now making waves in the mainstream charts - My Chemical Romance for example, and Lostprophets to an extent - the time seems right for Enter Shikari. The band take the hardcore singing style and guitar riffs and mix them with more melodic, soaring vocals, with the odd trance riff thrown in for good measure. It sounds a strange mix but it works, and has had labels foaming at the mouth wanting to sign them; they've decided to release their music independently instead.

:: THE VIEW
Sometimes all you need is a straightforward rock'n'roll band, and it seems Scottish four-piece The View have been created for just that purpose - to fulfil your rock'n'roll needs. They've been compared to The Libertines, with whom their sound has much in common, but The View's tunes are meatier, more honed, and just downright catchier than anything Pete Doherty or even Razorlight's Johnny Borrell could write. Their next single, the sure-fire hit Same Jeans, is out in January, followed by a UK tour.

:: JACK PENATE
Handsome of face and floppy of hair, Jack Penate looks like he's stepped from the 50s - sometimes the 1950s, sometimes the 2050s. Which kind of sums up his music as well. Taking rockabilly rhythms and mixing them with today's prevalent Britpop guitar sound, Jack crafts timeless sounding upbeat pop nuggets. His limited edition debut single Second, Minute Or Hour ended up as Jo Whiley's Single Of The Week, suggesting that the intended slow build is not going to happen for Jack.

:: JUST JACK
After his overlooked 2003 debut album The Outer Marker sunk into obscurity thanks to his record label going bust, Just Jack (real name Jack Allsopp) is back for another crack at success. This time he's got the helping hands of a major label deal, shared management with his new-found friend Elton John, and a flawless-sounding album in the shape of Overtones, out at the end of January. Like Mike Skinner with better tunes, or a wittier Stereo MCs, this talented musician's sound is actually just Jack.

:: THE FRAY
Denver four-piece The Fray have stolen that British band trick of sticking a `The' in front of the band name in the hope that they may have some success here, just like they have in their native America. Possibly. They'd probably do well with or without it, as their tunes, which are what Coldplay and David Gray might sound like if they were American, have radio-friendly written all over them. See them support The Feeling in February.

:: THE HOURS
The Hours, between them, have played with the likes of Black Grape, Elastica and Pulp, but sound nothing like any of those bands. Instead, their music, which sounds like a more energetic Keane, should appeal to the more discerning fan out there. The band's debut single Ali In The Jungle made single of the week for Radio 1 DJs Jo Whiley and Zane Lowe, and new single Back When You Were Good is more sophisticated piano-driven pop, this time backed by a Phil Spector Wall Of Sound-style production.

:: COLD WAR KIDS
On first listening to Cold War Kids you'd be forgiven for thinking they're British. The meandering melodies, gentle riffs and songs that are soundscapes rather than tunes are all reminiscent of the likes of Beta Band, Guillemots or Elbow. But, no, the four-piece are from Long Beach in Los Angeles and intend to take on their British counterparts in February when they tour with Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. Their album Robbers & Cowards arrives the same month.

:: MARK RONSON
After helping launch Lily Allen's career this year, and giving a helpful shove to those of Amy Winehouse and Robbie Williams, producer extraordinaire Mark Ronson is stepping out from behind the mixing desk to front his own album. Called Version, it does what it says on the tin and is versions of famous hits, from a jazzy, funked up take on Coldplay's God Put A Smile On Your Face to a soulful hip hop take on Britney's Toxic. It's out in April.

:: KLAXONS
Leaders of the so-called `new rave' revolution, as championed by NME, the Klaxons (like all the other new rave bands) are essentially an indie rock band with angular riffs and frenetic rhythms that has thrown in the odd electronic squelchy noise as a nod to rave music. They have, though, covered rave `classic' The Bouncer, that `your name's not down' one. Shouty, energetic and completely bonkers, Klaxons are riding the zeitgeist into the hearts of the kids.

:: SAM BEETON
Not many 16 year olds have Paul Simon, Bob Dylan, Woodie Guthrie, and the Travelling Wilburies in their CD collection, but singer-songwriter Sam Beeton does. He's not your average teenager - the self-confessed Luddite is the only artist here not to have a MySpace page - and those musical influences are all over this rising star's songs. His record company Sony BMG are so impressed with the music that the major label are making him a priority next year.

:: THE HOOSIERS
The Hoosiers frontman, the impressively monikered Irwin Sparkes, says that if his band were a film they'd be a cross between Anchorman and Close Encounters Of The Third Kind. That might confuse you but their music won't, as it's foot-tappingly catchy pop music given a twist by Irwin's slightly happier than Robert Smith vocal style. Forthcoming single Worried About Ray is a perfect example of the band's "skiffle-pop'', as they like to call it, and it's out in the New Year.