Cool Philter

Let me lay my cards on the table. I can’t abide Phil Coulter. He is the living physical embodiment of mediocrity. He strives to find the asinine in everything and then glorifies it. In saying that, I have never met him, he’s probably very nice. I hate that.

Where did it all go wrong? He wrote for Elvis (My Boy), the Bay City Rollers (Les McKeown rates the Coulter years as the Rollers finest!), Christy Moore (Ride on), Sinead O’Connor, Van Morrison, James Galway, and more, many many more. Now? Brian Kennedy, Ronan Keating, Ireland’s call, You’re a star. God. I don’t know if you’re still talking to Bill Martin, but if you are, get back together! Tell the new crowd you can’t stand the sight of them, like the rest of us. You were great man! Now you’re smashing guitars for a PR stunt and sitting beside Linda Martin and Louis Walsh. At least she’s in the middle, I don’t trust Louis either, he's beyond redemption.

Another thing; when someone wins “You’re a star,” don’t lumber them with some trite piece of crap of a song. Play to their strengths. Remember Bill Martin’s victory. No song should ever contain the lines:

“Born in London late October,
You mid-June in Herzegovina”

or (the whole chorus is magnificently awful)

“What is the colour of our skin?
When we all shine from once within,
Whether you're rich or poor,
I know for sure,
That we all hold the cure.
So let us all join our hearts as one,
This is our future just begun,
If we accept belief, avoid the grief and start it all again,
Well maybe we might find a better plan.”

That was Simon Casey’s cross to bear, but get a load of the monkey on poor Mickey Joe’s back

“Ask me why
The sun and moon go round
Ask me why
My feet never touch the ground
Tell the truth
You take my breath away”



No.No.No.No.NO.

Look at some of your triumphs man!

“Ride on”

“When you ride into the night without a trace behind
Run your claw along my gut, one last time
I turn to face an empty space, where once you used to lie
And look for a spark that lights the night
Through a teardrop in my eye”

or “Scorn not his simplicity”

“Only he knows how to face the future hopefully
Surrounded by despair
He won't ask for your pity or your sympathy
But surely you should care”

You used not accept lyical garbage, why now? Go to the Helix, Cool. Punish the fools. Don’t listen to the other two has-beens on the couch. Their opinion is worthless. They haven’t seen what you’ve seen! Why are you selling yourself short? Better still, don’t turn up for work. Send the producer a note:

“Couldn’t make it today, all the acts are aural torture. Decided to write good songs for good artists. I hate Ronan Keating. Louis Walsh is a worthless purveyor of pap.

Regards,
Cool.

P.S I have decided to call myself Cool from now on, as I cast off the last twenty years!”

Save yourself.