Sunday, 30 November 2008

Movement and Vibe

The last few months have been a blur. Big tings have gone down with the main one being upping sticks in Sheffield and heading down to the capital.

In between times we’ve been to the Bestival festival, narrowly avoiding trench foot and raising bloody hell amid the mud bath. The highlights almost too numerous to mention. Dancing in torrential rain wearing a rizla parka chanting ‘Fuck the Rain’ was a particularly strong look.

Rough Disko tottered towards its 4th Birthday in typical fashion. The delightful DJ Mowgli proved his worth both behind the decks and as an eating machine at the Ethio-Cubana restaurant in Sheff. Here’s a selection of candid shots, showcasing how we’ve been rolling…

Caned and the gang

Got any biscuits chum?

Tired Timmy

Little sausage?

Mowgli - get him ladies!

Mowgli in the freaking mix

Mowgli meets the Wicker uptown

Loading the tune cannon


Cooling Towers go down

The fate of the Cooling Towers in Sheffield saw a lot of hot air being pumped out across the land. Like a pair of greying withered tits on prime time telly, they prompted anger, lust and confusion in equal measure.

Instead of lamenting their demise, we decided to get seriously on it, then watch them fall. Seeing them go down was pretty gut wrenching but the mind altering sudofen we ingested soothed the pain.

The best bit was standing next to the ring road in party hats. We exploded poppers (of the paper nature - not amyl), jumped up and down while narrowly avoiding getting run over. Big, big vibes. Here’s some shots from the aftershow back at ours. Heavy.

Man of Mystery...

Campaigner and minor celebrity catches some zs on a packet of skins.

On it.

Monday, 17 November 2008

Catch up



Suited and booted

rave up

Caught red handed

Jeff went to Barcelona at the tail end of July. I couldn’t afford the trip but was honoured enough to be invited to play records at a wedding of a chum of the Gag Reflex’s in Birmingham.

The pair of us were as chirpy as a pair of burglars staring at an empty house at the prospect of providing a suitable heinous soundtrack to the big day. Somewhat unsurprisingly, our lack of forward planning turned out to be our undoing.

While I made the inevitable, yet classic error of overindulging the evening before, we set off late (after dining on a Gregg’s for breakfast) and ended up 50 miles away from Brum with an hour before fingers and rings were to meet.

Against all the odds (and speed limits on the outskirts of Brum) we made it. But I forgot my tie and had to get mysen to the charity shop. Cue standing outside the church in the searing heat for an hour chin wagging with the wedding vehicle driver and supping from the bride and groom’s big day mugs while the vibe was going romantic over time inside God’s gaff.

The next few hours unfolded in a similarly disastrously and awkward way. We landed a parking ticket while looking for some wires, I had to spend a few stolen hours in the boudoir as there were certain parts of the meal I wasn’t invited to. Then we had to drive to Stourbridge to gatecrash a family bbq to try and pick up some turntables after discovering cd-js were the only music making business supplied.

Even then, we didn’t get to play records due to the dude in charge of the turntables moseying off with one of the decks during the speeches.

The highlights included the obvious romance, wolfing down curried mutton, getting well shitted and heading to the Rainbow club in Digbeth on the hunt for rave-action. We topped the weekend off by driving through Cock Alley on the return leg…

Field Day was supposed to be one of the highlights of the summer - last year had been a gloriously messy day full of sunshine and drugs but was one of the most badly organised events we’d ever attended - a proper piss up in a brewery style sit.

However, we’d bought tickets again in the hope that the organisers would get it together enough to employ more than five bar staff and deploy over 20 portaloos for ass deposal action…

This time it wasn’t the lack of tings which ruined the do but the claustrophobic presence of numerous feds and sniffer dogs operating on the door and inside the arena and the aural poverty of the line up.

I was ‘stop and searched’ but managed to get my stash through the police net by lying - (when was the last time you smoked cannabis sir? - I can’t remember - possibly Thursday?) and judicious use of extra clothing (stashing the gear in socks)…

The intense rain on the day meant we took a detour to pick up water proofs - so by the time we got in and dealt with the feds most of the good stuff had gone… The Notwist, Foals, and Telepathe were among the musical low points. But we predictably got battered in the end anyhow…