Spilling The Beans

Just imagine for a moment a world where supermarkets fill their shelves with incorrectly labelled products; so, what looks like a regular tin of baked beans, once opened, turns out to be a can of boiled possum, marinated in the piss of an aids ridden leper. You would feel cheated, violated, and generally isolated from your core beliefs and social surroundings. You’d begin to question the very essence of the elusive tin of beans, and start to long for the very beans themselves in a desperate effort to retain their legacy, and the euphoric quality that they brought to your life.
Back in the real world, these tins of beans are nestled among us, in our towns, staining our nights out.
One freshly opened tin exists in the form of the infamous Propaganda club night at the newly established Moo Moo Bar (formally Blush) in Cheltenham. From what used to be a fantastic mid week release, Propaganda has become a hazy shadow of its former self; both in atmosphere and the clientele. In its defence, the club still upholds its fine selection of fresh, and juicy older indie rock gems throughout the night’s entirety. But, it seems that these days, having the luxury and opportunity of hearing such nuggets just isn’t enough for most people. It appears that today’s average sheep would prefer to hear a dull collection of bland and generic wannabes ‘mixed’ together by another bland and generic wannabe masquerading as a DJ. Being as this goon isn’t actually performing, they resort to playing other peoples music, which must be irritating for them, but oddly welcomed by the crowd. Therefore, clearly the club needn’t have bothered ushering in a ‘celebrity’ DJ and should have just got a better resident DJ. Either way, the music suffers, and thus, so does the once excellent atmosphere.Since the Moo Moo face lift, another noticeable feature to the club night is that a more primed and trend conscious crowd have started to clog up the dance floors and bars at the venue. Whereas before, the regulars tended to come for the music and the good times, they now seem to revel in strutting into the room, as if on a lavish and cheap cat walk, and proceed on posing in every conceivable direction like a heard of whoring meerkats. The fascination has shifted dramatically towards being firmly in the ‘scene’ rather than being firmly in the club, having a great night out, like a normal person. This considered, the whole Propaganda experience has left one feeling alone adrift a see of blank, eye brow less faces, attached to bodies that have no concept of music, clearly. Maybe it’s the name change (off the record; Moo Moo being a fantastic name for a club anywhere) but Propaganda no longer holds the warmth and unique quality of being the towns mid-week indie getaway. If this is not rectified, then this will regrettably lead to the once hugely popular student club night to be left on the shelf, like many a piss filled tin of beans, but minus the charm. And nobody wants that on their toast!
Ben Hawling