His real name is Keigo Oyamada, but this 29-year-old Tokyo-based studio genius takes his name from the simian psychologist in the 605 film Planet Of The Apes. It’s a typical pop culture reference from a man

enters consumer hell

The Cardigans

It's a thin line between polished and bland. Swedish popsters The Cardigans have broken hearts with 'Lovefool’ (their memorable contribution to the Romeo & Juliet soundtrack‘ and smashed cars in the banned video for ’lvly Favourite Game'. all the while staying on the right side of the cool poo fence. Singer Nina Persson claims that she and the rest of the band are uninteresting, shy and embarrassed. We say they are making some of the most. exquiSitely crafted chartbusters in recent times. Support comes from hotly-tipped Swedes, The Soundtrack Of Our Lives.

iBrian Donaldsoni

The Cardigans play Barrow/and, Glasgow, Tue 27 Apr. See rock and pOp listings, page 49.


6 THE LIST '5—29 AC' '999

whose debut, Fantasma, was described as ’the album Brian

Wilson might have made if he had

been Japanese’. Cornelius has recently released a new album,

C/WF/Vl, a two disc set which sees

him remixing work by the likes of U.N.K.L.E. and The Pastels and

having his own songs made over by such luminaries as Money Mark and

Damon Albarn. He's visiting

Glasgow real soon, so get ready to

go ape. What colour is the future?

Orange. Like the sun going down in

the 20th Century.

If you had six fingers would you do

things differently?

I might have ended up being a gUitar techniCian going to further levels than Eddie Van Halen.

Which other artists do you compare

your music to? The ’8’ bands: The Beatles, Burt

Bacharach, Bob Dylan, Buddy Holly,

Boredoms, Bob Log Three, Bjork, Blle Bandits, Ben Folds Five and

Bon Jovi. By the way, I use the ’Bon

Jow' model guitar. (Peter Ross)

Cornelius plays 92, Glasgow, Thu 22

Apr. See rock and pop listings, page 46.

As the year 2000 beckons and everyone frOm lCl to your local burger van attempts to squeeze into the Emperor's clothes through the Cunning use of dot coms and cuddly logos, l deoded to cast my Jaded eye over a ’shopping experience f0r the millennium'. After battling through a traffic Jam one wOuld normally only enc0unter at a NchOnaid’s drive-thru during a two-for-one offer, l arrived at what was Once Buchanan Street, only to find at swamped with the kind of crowding that should merit a government inquny. Grown women were using frail


tOrtured sows swarmed the faux marble walkways as they searched for an acquisit:0n that would allay their purchase- hungry demOns. True, the place had foregone the customary waterfall centrepiece lighting and cl0ying use of taupe in favour of that Cipher of modernity light, air and precariously suspended sheets of plate glass.

As potential purchasers zig- zagged aimlessly through the stores, I imagined a Blofeld figure, positioned in his sky bar way above the foodcourt, chuckling at his ultimate torture. A futuristic shopping environment, offering rebirth thrOugh purchase, with noth ng wOrth buying. Unless, of course. y0ur dream of the new millennium involves Stencillng your toilet bowl or nibbling on the world's largest coo-0e,

Concerned that my Over- zealous imagination was

As everyone apart from Harvey Nichols knows, Glasgow could teach a thing or two to the honey-hued ladies of Kensington when it

comes to shopping.

Old deals as mpromptu step- ladders, while men pushed their children, Fagin-like, through the -egs of struggling war veterans. The sweet aroma of desperatiOn clung to everything with the grim determination of a ranCid kebab, as waves of hysteria wiped out the weakest members of the pack,

Presuming that Princess Dl had returned from the dead in Order to expose the Mafia/arms dealers/Girl Gurdes for the murderers they were, I f0ught my way to the front of the mob. The reason for this return to animai behaviour? Why, the God of commerce had sent a prophet down, and he was currently receiveng worshippers at his new, purpose-bunt temple nestlzng among the clouds of smog hovering over Glasgow

Now, as everyone apart frOm Harvey Nichols knows, Glasgow COuld teach a thing or two to the hOney-hued ladies of Kensingtori when it c0mes to shopping. It made perfect sense, therefore, for this lvlecca of mismanaged money to rol‘ down its prayer mats and invite the devoted aIOng en masse.

Caught up in the emotion of the moment, I passed through its pOrtals and entered what appeared to be either a Bond set or Dante's third ring of consumer hell. Straining crowds of credit-

distorting reality, I grasped my paranoia by the hand and dragged it into Twee-U-Like After resisting the init al desire to remove the shop ass:stant’s ixed grin with an industrial sander, | plucked what looked like a harvest festival offering from the last millennium off a sheit’ and naively enquwed as to ts function. The blank look I received for my troubles was akin to that pre\'lOuS'y worn by fishermen's widows, looking out to the distant horizon in the vain hope that their loved one WOulC return.

lvly w Orst fears were confirmed. The c0ncrete form of the new millennium had arrived, and '2 took the shape of a shopping workhouse staffed by New Dealers being punished by the gmernment ‘Or wanting the luxury of chOice. 0‘ course, to the casual shopper, al: that had really happened was the stock usually reserved for kitscn barrows, service stations and tOrnbo as had been re-branded and placed in hideously over— priced units. But the over-r'd'ng anthem was as clear to me as the skylights in St Bucnanan's cathedral of consumerisrn same shit, different century. Gill Mills is on Radio Scotland, Sun 7-8pm and co-hosts The Loafers on BBC Choice, The-Fri, 10pm.