It’s no secret that tattoos go with punk music like a pack of Marlboro Reds with a lukewarm PBR. A match made in heaven. They’re a permanent signal to those around you about how badass you are. But just like with punk music, there are plenty faux pas you should be aware of. Trust us, the last thing you need is the person with the ink-covered needle jackhammer tearing into your skin to be annoyed with you. To avoid any future embarrassment (or pain), study our definitive list of the best ways to piss off your tattoo artist.
Flash Design Changes
If you want something sick that your tattoo artist has created or based on traditional old-school designs, you can always trust their flash sheet. If you want a design that you have come up with in your head, book a custom tattoo. Don’t pick the eagle off the wall and then ask to get rid of the knife in its mouth and fire coming off its back, those are the awesome parts.
Betraying Tradition
Speaking of traditional flash, don’t be a poser. If you are going to get that swallow bird tattoo, you better have traveled 5,000 nautical miles. And if you are getting a teardrop under your eye, well I hope he had it coming to him.
Idea Theft
Asking a tattoo artist to tattoo someone else’s design on you is the equivalent of tattoo cuckolding. Are you also going to go back to their house and fuck their significant other in front of them? If you have an artist you want to be tattooed by then pick one of their designs, it’s that simple.
Wriggling
We know tattoos hurt, but you don’t need to flop all over the place like a fish that just landed in a canoe. It might not be the most comfortable feeling getting your ribs tickled by a thousand tiny swords, but if you are determined to get that sick side splitter you need to be prepared to sit like a stone. Try not to laugh and keep breathing to a minimum if you can.
Other People’s Opinions
Nothing kills the vibe in a tattoo shop like a tag-along with bad opinions. If you want to bring a buddy along to your appointment, be sure they know how to keep their mouth shut. Better again, bring someone who will hype up the design and buy beers for everyone in the shop.
Being Drunk
You might think you’re more charming after you’ve had a few, but you’re actually even more annoying than normal. The benefit of you being drunk is that you might be willing to pay more, and you should. The downside is you’re going to do the drunk close talking that everyone hates, and you’re going to bleed more. Get tattooed sober you coward.
Calling Timeout Constantly
Tattoos hurt, and everyone needs a break from time to time. But starting and stopping every 5 minutes isn’t doing anyone any favors. Suck it up, sit there, and you will get a break eventually. This is a surefire way to end up getting a nice dry paper towel wipe as the tattoo winds down.
Partner Portraits
Why are you going to make someone stare at a photo of your ugly partner and pretend this is a good idea? Ask for a tattoo of your dog instead, people love dogs. Nobody loves the person you’ve been dating for 3 months.
Commas
Any phrase that requires a comma is a bad idea. Even if it is put in the right place, strangers will always stare at your tattoo to check if you have a big permanent grammatical fuck up on your arm to add a bit of smugness to their day. Don’t make your tattoo artist have to hire a copy editor for the day because you read Voltaire for the first time.
Haggling
If you don’t want to pay the price for a good tattoo, find someone who will give you a shit tattoo for cheap. Just pay your artist the rate they gave you, don’t try to negotiate a deal. And be sure to leave a tip especially if they’re super nice or played a few sick Deftones tracks during your session.
Heed our sage advice and you’ll be every tattooer’s dream client in no time. And remember, if you don’t like a tattoo you got, you will only have it forever. Now we’re off to see if we can get that 4th line added to our Black Flag backpiece.











As insults go, “Worst Radiohead Album” is a pretty mild one, along the lines of “Least Cute Cat”, or “Worst Lifesaving Procedure” – even the lesser ones pretty much hit the spot. However, everything about TKOL and its release felt oddly low-key, to the extent that I’m never 100% sure I didn’t dream it. (Yes, that is a brag).
The songs on “Amnesiac” came from the same sessions as the previous year’s “Kid A”, and yet this somehow wasn’t another era-defining masterpiece. The fuck? Were they spitting directly into the faces of the loyal fans here? According to me back then, yes. But with some objective distance, these are actually 11 inventive songs whose only real crime is not transporting me to “Kid A”‘s intangible magical nether-dimension.
I want to love this as much as everyone else, and for the first 3 tracks I absolutely do. But for some reason the rest of it just doesn’t seem to get to me – with one very notable exception. “Present Tense” fucks me up good and proper, and every time the “as my world comes crashing down” lyric hits I invariably crumple to the floor and start bawling (really inconvenient when I’m out and about).
Before Jonny Greenwood had his head turned by old French wooden synthesizers and clockwork oboes (probably), his part in the band’s three-guitar attack was their secret weapon (alongside Thom Yorke’s not-so-secret voice). Idiosyncratic and virtuosic without being punchable (very rare), his lead guitar added some sizzle to this (relatively) conventional debut. It would all get even better on the next album, but I will fight anyone (including members of the band) who tries to write this one off.
The guitars had taken a back seat for the best part of two albums, and dads across the world were getting antsy. Would there ever be another “Creep”? There wouldn’t, but the axes did get a bit of a run out this time, including on many of the strongest songs. That said, the standout track is “Myxomatosis”, which is dominated by a galumphing synth riff that transforms it into easily the funkiest song ever written about sick bunny rabbits.
Radiohead disrupted the music industry’s album-release template here, with an innovative “pay-what-you-want” system. One million copies of “In Rainbows” were left by a farm gate on a country lane in Oxfordshire, and fans were invited to put “a few quid” into a wooden honesty box that was shaped like a sharp-toothed cartoon bear – eventually raising a commendable £842. It’s a remarkable, beautiful album, that deepened our love for the band in a way that we didn’t think was possible at the time – and in retrospect my payment of 12 pence and an expired condom severely undervalued it.
Not much more jizz needs to be spilled fluffing this rightly celebrated album, but it’s worth spending a moment on the excellent lyrics. Not as coldly impersonal as they’re reputed to be – just as often they’re vulnerable, or furious, or even funny. The line “kicking squealing Gucci little piggy” [sic] is an absolute world-beater, and I sincerely hope Thom gave himself the rest of the month off after writing it. (Update: he didn’t).
I fully hated this on the first listen. When a fucking free-jazz brass ensemble parped themselves into existence midway through track 3, “The National Anthem”, I was all ready to frisbee my compact disc right out the window. But I made it through to a curious second listen, and then by listen three I’d already become insufferably evangelical about it. Some kind of witchcraft is at play here – nothing on the album would make it into my top 10 Radiohead songs, and yet the sum of its parts is just magic.
I can’t even remember what else I was listening to in 1995, but it all got ditched soon after “The Bends” came along. It just had this indefinable aura, although I will concede that maybe a small part of that aura could actually be defined as “total dweeb listens to good music for the first time”. So it’s a pretty subjective number one. But if you think its conventional rock band sound makes it automatically less sophisticated than the albums that followed it, might I entreat you to suck upon the octatonic flex that is “Just”? A whole lot of theory shit is going on under its hood, but before you get a chance to discern whether the opening four chords have borrowed a note from the Lydian mode, the song flings you against the wall, stuffs your manuscript paper into your mouth and sneers into your stupid nerdy face.