Just a little egg loving earlyish in the morning

If, like me, you enjoy a good booze up, then you'll know there ain't nothing better than consuming something egg-based and greasy the morning after. Here's three recent classics. My eyes, bottom and mouth are watering just looking at them. Huuuh...



Chips - savage.



Artful splashing of sauce



The Macdaddy

Berlin ain't ready

Our trip to Berlin started with 45 minutes fitful sleep and perhaps the worst Wetherspoons breakfast ever. But it became muchos better. We were flying over for the German leg of the Warp20 parties and, unsurprisingly, it was totally off the hook. Little sleep, maximum booze, the constant playing of 'fives' - even sightseeing and visiting a Christmas market.

Plus we raved it up at Berghain/Panorama bar for the electronic hoe down. We left after a breakfast of jager and it was still going strong. The great Andrew Weatherall, Rustie, Hudson Mohawke and Sheffield's Winston Hazel were all representing. You can't take cameras into the club but it was almost too strong to mention. Power station vibes, music loud enough to knock you over and never ending techno. Weatherall's moustache was looking pretty cocksure while Winston Hazel kicked off about half six and went all bleepy on our ravy arses.

The next day involved more boozing and eating before manning up and heading downstairs for a spot of djing in the bar below our apartment with the aforementioned Winnie. Safe as fook mate. We heard more about the intricacies of Weatherall's facial hair, drank even more, danced til half five, snatched 45 minutes kip before stumbling into a taxi to the airport. I was probably drunk on that flight. It was amazing and the following day was one full of despondence. Classic Icarus vibes.



Drinking Sex on the beach. In a dark bar with a fake beach.



The beach. That sand gets everywhere.



Enjoying a delicious takeaway.



Discussing tactics behind fives and the cons of eating red meat just before bed



A loser of fives. Man up.



The beautiful artwork above the bed. Not fear inducing at all. No way.



Hot boozing.



Pining for Wurst



The Wurst arrives



Cafe Einstein. The best eggs ever.



Chicken. Not children.



Knock off jager. The only way to warm up for the all night German rave.



Post energy drink flex.



Pope Benedict XVI. As a baby. Germany does it better.



Meh.

Fucking Squire

If you ain’t aware, the Squire of Gothos is not a dandyish fopp but a pair of South Yorkshire bass aficionados, whose self-destructive way of enjoying demselves is akin to how their music sounds. Despite being disproportionately matched in physical terms, the pair have an equally large love of getting in a tangle as well as making fast rave music with basslines big, bad and heavy enough to take yer cheeks off.



Described by one internet nerd as “meaner than Arnold Schwarzenegger on LSD“, the pair’s train of thought appears to follow the a nihilistic notion - what’s the point in doing anything by halves when you can drain a bag of strong shit and buy another three while you’re at it. Check the sound of Triple Drop, Pass Dem Poppaz and I Only Wanna Be With Bass. This is hyperactive stooped music which I could be getting too old for.



They describe demselves on their MySpace thusly… - “Free parties in graveyards. Happy hardcore on downers. Electro House’s Evil brother. Speed Garage nights with more violence. Dubstep with less nerds and harder drugs. Hitting a woman copper in the face with a cro-bar.” Lovely.

We met the Squires through throwing the Rough Disko parties in Sheffield. They turned up with their crew and got as wrecked as we did. Subsequently they became regulars at our soiree, and played a mean set to 60 or so fuck heads in November 2008. We drank our own body weight in Stella, Tich donned a Danger Mouse costume and I had to be carried home. We saw them again at Bang Face earlier in the year and the vibe had a similar sordid glow. It was amazing and resulted in me wearing a German army helmet some time around breakfast on the Sunday morning. Messy times fer sure.

The pair have upped the ante during 2009 and are looking at even bigger tings for 2010 - a US trip, more dates in Europe and a tonne of releases coming our way. If you’re looking for reference points, perhaps check the likes of Raffertie, Kanji Kinetic, A1 Bassline - all fellow bass mongers the Squires have shared bills and parties with. This interview was conducted with Al just the other week and here is the whole thing verbatim - It seemed too ridiculous to chop up too much…

Q. How did you two idiots meet?

A. “Al is from Gleadless, Tich is Chesterfield Murdah Squad. We met up at the 2005 Olympic sized bong smoking contest. Tich asked Al if he wanted to play in band that “sounded like negative approach” - We’ve made music together ever since.”

Q. When did you start putting on raves in Sheff? You seem to have come out of nowhere or out of a scene that I wasn’t aware of when I was in the city…

A. “We roll with a bunch of jungle obsessed youngers who’ve been putting on parties for a few years in mostly illegal settings. So much sketchy stuff has been seen and done, it’s untrue. The guys have a bit of crazy rep as parties normally end up proper nutty. I have personally taken a diazepam for epileptic dogs and during the same session watched a good friend take a diazepam suppository. Hold tight Dog Pillz, Plattapussy and Dubplatehoven!”

Q. Music seems to be spilling out of you two at the minute - Kid 606, Kanji Kinetic based business - what have you got on the horizon…

“It’s good to do stuff for people you respect and we’ve got some stuff coming out on various labels. I think our horizon is on some serious Kevin and Perry go Large type shit!”

Q. Anyone you’d cite as influences? Who’s wetting your musical whistle at the minute?

“Tich would probably say 2 Unlimited (no joke). I’d reckon our biggest influence is probably weed but music wise right now i’d have to say DJ Pantha, old jungle, Youngsta or any mid nineties, ignorant east coast gangsta rap. Anything on Hyperdub, Hessle Audio, Gully Gang but mostly old shit to be honest!

Q. Electronic producers get all wet over Sheffield - Warp, birthplace of ‘bleep’, Human League and all that - Do you guys hold any truck with dis vibe? Or is it something you don’t even think about?

“Of course we’ve been buzzing offa Warp for a long time now. I have a few of the old bleepy shits on record while my copy of Sweet Exorcist’s CCEP has the price sticker from the Warp shop still on it! I was talking to some guy at work the other day and we got onto music and it turned out he loves a bit of his hardcore electronic styles. He was amazed that I knew about the Cabs and Sheffield’s pedigree. It’s nice to know we have a cool musical heratige here, the type that can bring generations together. I wonder what the old heads are making of the bassline explosion haha!”

Q. Bangface, Holland and the US - the gigs are getting bigger - is it all through MySpace/Blogs that all this hype is building? And are you excited about Bang Face? I would be…

“Basically we are two scruffy, slack mash heads. Why people want to book us to play their parties I don’t know but while the going’s good, it’s on! The internet has got us where we are today with people checking MySpace and giving us love on blogs/mixes. We have never really much put effort into getting a set which is pretty mad. Bang Face is going to be really real, the lineup for next year is shit hot. We’ve been to both weekenders so far so it’s a privilege to be doing it!”

Q. I checked out the Youtube footage of the Squire - and read a few bits and bobs about the episode - one website said the Squire “is essentially a naughty child who has overstepped his bounds” - almost too true?

A. “Very true indeed, a naughty child who has raided his nan’s medicine cabinet haha!”

Check their thoughts on the Myspace or blog - find them hither and thither

Pig’s Ear Real Ale Festival

Intoxicating experiences are ten a penny round here but when we visited the Pig’s Ear Real Ale Festival in Hackney, drinking reached another level. The do was a five day celebration of all things ale related and hosted by beer bores or saviours depending on how much you like yarns and or morris dancers - CAMRA.

The vibe was full on sausage fest - on entering we were faced with a room full of portly men in short shorts. I’ve never been in a room full of so many people which felt so lonely. This is where the single man goes to die. A twisted future vibe I don’t think I want to contemplate too much.

The crucial aspect of the festival was the beer - never have I tasted such a variety of potions and brews. We kicked off proceedings with a half of the Dark Domination. Palatable and none too heavy. Then a dose of Arthur’s Ale from the Avalon Brewery - a Tolkien-esque number which tasted like Tolkien himself might do at this stage - stiltony and a bit off. Our third had the flavour of chronic while another resembled frankfurters which one member of our party spilled down himself.

After a few halves, we took down a delicious cheese sandwich and began hobnobbing with the men in charge of what could have quite reasonably been one of the largest pasties in the entirety of the UK.

The vibe rapidly fell apart once we started hitting the plus ten per cent ales - including a Night on Mare Street - a self reverential local Hackney drank. Skittles and one Oliver Reed t-shirt purchase later we found ourselves in Wetherspoons. It ended in the flat shouting at each other sometime before 2 in the am. The next morning was one of the worst I’ve enjoyed for the entirety of 2009. Which is saying something. Serious.



The tee-shirt stall. The CAMRA crew sure can laugh at themselves



A cheese sandwich



The biggest pasty in the world?



Encore for the pasty - It's beautiful enough to marry

Mickey Rourke and me

I still can't be sure whether this is Mickey Rourke or just an alcoholic who gave a convincing impression. I guess I'll never know.

Just a Birmingham ting

Birmingham crew Bigger than Barry just might have the sharpest name for a club night in the land. The Barry in question is Barry Austin - once the fattest man in the UK. Claiming to be bigger than him can mean only one ting - you reckon you’re colossal. This poor dude has subsequently slimmed down since his bigger days - by comparison the club night named after him has only become fatter, spreading its weight out of Brum and squishing Leeds, Sheffield and even Ibiza. Big.

We ventured out of the capital up to Barry’s original home of Birmingham for the Major Lazer do. One of the advantages of attending Barry’s shindig is the venue - the Rainbow Warehouse is a suitably mucky location and gives off an intoxicatingly strong vibe. So strong that it works its magic before you’ve even entered. When we spilled from the taxi outside the hoedown signs of disarray were in their plenty. One young man was rolling around in his own sick. It must be a Birmingham ting.

When we entered hype man of the moment LVis 1990 was bouncing away behind the wheels pushing his emaciated bassline house sound. Proper rave music which wear boots for the jungle with enough rubber and meat to give you a solid kicking. He terminated his performance by dropping Inner City’s Good Life and hopefully followed it with a hot meal. The man looks like I imagine anyone dining out on the George Michael diet of Starbucks and weed might. Scrawny.

Major Lazer were up next and slightly disappointingly only one half of the blazer wearing DJ and production team had made it. Diplo was representing whereas Switch was nowhere to be seen. I’m not sure where the nearest Wetherspoons to the Rainbow is but it’s possible he may have had his head under the taps. Who knows. Despite missing the drunker half, Diplo carried the show with a crack team of dancers racing through dubstep heaving and crunked up renditions of the Major Lazer album. Hold the line.

Post Diplo the whole thing disintegrated. Toddla T turned up, we indulged in more energy drinks and gave T-Willy the requisite ear bashing. Snakes. Post club the mash up continued into Saturday. We watched the Villa game and Airplane and ate some of the driest southern fried chicken I’ve ever consumed. 18 pieces at a discount rate. One of our party was so into it that he sucked the bones dry. Disgusting…

Big tune

So much fresh vibes to stick up on here. Can't get enough of this Revenge tune though. It's keeping tings sane... Look out for the drop. It's bigger than big...

Sunday bloody Sunday

Hype day t’other Sunday. With the lagers of the past 48 hours equating to a blanket of bad taste and gloom, it was a day for manning up and taking the fear on the chin.

After aurally ingesting an injection of good cheer to the face via a viewing of Fantastic Mr Fox, we headed down to the Royal Festival Hall to catch a ‘free’ dubstep jazz session fronted by the chubby digi-skills of Bass Clef. It was a classic jazz culture hoe down on the South Bank. Coffees, kids, newspapers and earnest conversation. We sidestepped stretching the brain fabric in a philosophical direction and opted for the bar.

During our first pint we witnessed two dudes sitting in front of laptops plonking away at their keyboards - they wore masks while frantically typing out code live. Each letter and piece of typing equated to some form of skronking feedback while onlookers sat on bean bags and the floor bopping away to the ‘happening’. Groundbreaking? Not really. Boring? Perhaps. Idiotique? Defiantly.

The second ‘piece’ involved the projection of piano keys onto the back wall while carefully placed microphones reacted to the light from the keys to emanate sound. It was time for a bifta. If we hadn’t, then the levels of potential pretension could have become so engorged they threatened to blow the entire Festival Hall away. I’m all for a freak out but there needs to be something resembling a point. Purleaze.

When we were mildly zonged, Bass Clef ambled on with trombone, sequencers and armfuls of heaviness to blow the foam of our pints. It was top bottom heavy until the accompanying musicians attempted to join in. Even the Clef sarcastically announced “now it’s time for a journey”. Verve colloborator BJ Cole looked a little lost - come on grandad - this is bass music - not lullabies for twats -Thankfully most of the little shitty kids spent his set walking around with hands over their ears to add to the unreality of proceedings. .

On the way home we checked in with Greg Wilson at the Horse and Groom - the place was like Ibiza except at 6.30pm on a wet Sunday evening near Liverpool Street. Disco, drug deals and dancing were all going down - It was almost too much and meant an emergency stop for a happy meal en route home. Top conkers like but I’m a little pooped just thinking about it.

Joy Orbison - BRKLN CLLN

Here we go - BIG tune for the festive season to stuff inside yer turkey - South London's Joy Orbison gets all large and in charge on the follow up flex to Hyph Mngo. This is on a strictly need to know basis. Know it below... and read my oh so important thoughts on the matter underneath it... Big up...



FACT review of BRKLN CLLN

Cut Copy nicked all their ideas from...

... Flock of Seagulls. I had no idea until last week - but even Ministry of Sound appeared to know - they're now getting in on the act by handily bagging up all electronic 80s needs in one handy compilation - you can find it in your nearest supermarche next to Susan Boyle thanks to the superbrand. Depressing?

This bitch can sing

Throughout the stealthy slope into autumnal times, my skin has been almost popping with the number of fresh mixes getting underneath it. Like a witch's itchy sleeve let me tell you. Too much time on one's hands? Purleaze. There's too much fresh sounding sonic science being brewed up. I need an extra mouth to slurp up all the shit that's raining down.

Despite all the aural gratification I've been getting, there ain't nowt like Skream's Stella session with fellow dubstep man Kutz to really put a smile across one's grizzled mug.

Maybe it's the sloppiness of the whole endeavour or Skream's incessant chat - Whatevs this Rufus and Chaka Khan one in particular is an absolute monster - Big tune? The size of an elephant. Go big or go home.

This really is it...

My tenure as an online sweatshop wordsmith came crashing to an end the other week. Fittingly it was almost 24 months to the very day since I went to an interview in a shit hotel in Leeds to be told that I could possibly end up writing news about platinum metals.

I laughed at the time but little did I know what the full horror would resemble. Marlowe and the inscrutable heart of darkness all come to mind.

The leaving do was on point. Astons, right in the shadow of our office, was the location. The website offers a flattering insight into a place which is as dingy as it is depressing. One can sit inside drinking becks watching pathetic bastards piss their wages up the wall thinking they're living life to the very full while spilling cocktails down their Next suits. G.R.I.M.

Perhaps predictably, we made the occasion much more euphoric by getting bang pissed. I accidentally dropped my leaving gift (the above mug) on the floor of the DLR on the return journey. The pinot grigio I received (how did my colleagues know?) is a drink best consumed when already drunk such is the fragrancy of its manky bouquet.

The chicken we wolfed down at 11pm possessed a healthy orange glow. I put it down to the all the corn it must have been brought up on. Almost too fresh.

We even managed to get Craggsy a shout out - The walking piece of protein behind the wheely deelys (who has been known to consume a pasty and chips while in the 'mix' - heroic behaviour) played Beyonce to celebrate Craig's 41st birthday. A big look for a leaving do. Bye bye now...

Beyonce - Sweet Dreams (Official Video) HQ
Uploaded by wonderful-life1989. - Music videos, artist interviews, concerts and more.

The carcasses of ten pounds worth of radioactive chicken



Breakfast - More chicken, this time as a sausage with reggae reggae. In. My. Face.



This is Mirinda - a refreshing bev with enough e-numbers to maim the throat of a small child

Wax:On compilation review

I left my current job on Friday to pursue something which will hopefully be more fucking interesting. I did a last review for the shitty In the News website. It was so late that they almost didn't publish it but they have and here it is... Ramblings and rumblings on the Wax:On compilation...

Wax:On review here...

Tinny - Zingolo

Props to the Plat Du Jour blog for picking up on this... This is a rather large remix of the tune soundtracking the rather wonderful new Cadbury's advert.

Doorly is on the rerub of Zingolo's by Tinny. Check the remix here and the vid below... big looks all round...

Berghain

We're heading to Berghain in December for the Berlin Warp20 party and have subsequently been doing some internet digging for info. It sounds like we're gonna experience Caligula style levels of decadence. A tough door policy, intense techno work outs and sex. Everywhere. Check out these two weighty essays on the club. I almost want to take up residence in there...

Saturday at Berghain

Daniel Wang's thoughts on Berghain

Modeselektor vs Fabric vs Wetherspoons

Thursday October 22nd - BNP buffoon Nick Griffin’s leery mug is scratching itself across Tvs nationwide and Fabric is open for business - vive le super club and its own special protest. The world may have gone mad for the BNP hype but we’d removed ourselves from the political equation by opting for snacking on a ‘large one‘. Says muchos lotos about our take on the ‘media furore' don't it.

Being a school night and all, we didn’t want to get too bashy… but by the time we’d convened at Wetherspoons in Farringdon it was almost too late. Some frenzied chicken jerking in E8, a Heineken, boogaloo and bus ride and suddenly all bets were most definitely out of the window - or at least in the pint pot and being downed at a rapid rate. The first round in ‘spoons cost £16, which anyone with even a passing interest in their reasonable rates will realise is fairly horrifying.

After watching Griffin’s ‘sweating sex offender’ vibes on the box in ‘spoons with the subtitles on, we rumbled off to Fabrish with the collective bi(f)t(a) between our teeth, working a lairy flex through Farringdon - Boo yacka boo yacka - Amped up to the gills on night juice, we were readier than perhaps a quartet of large time loving twats with work the next day have ever been.

Landing at the club and the anticipated hoardes were not in evidence - London crew the Patchwork Pirates were on playing minimal dubstep to a half empty room and the Stella was expensive. It must cost a lot to pay for the silver trays they insist on serving your change on in there. I’m not after table service - I just want to stick the foamy liquid in my mouth and down my front. Whatevs, by the time the lights went up for Modeselektor, we’d endowed enough of said foamy shit to see a vibe all unwholesome and glistening… and the people had come. Hold tight...

The pair were bang into it - Gernot Bronsert was all Morph from Tony Hart’s show - gurning, limbs waggling while Sebastian Szary partner crime was more restrained - not in a pencils, easel, glint of a beast in the eye sort of way - but almost military in stance and gait despite the hardness they were dropping - Outside when we collared them it made even more sense - He was wearing a fucking beret and vibing hard.

They rinsed through some of the best bits of both albums - Hello Mom and Happy Birthday - two throwaway titles that don’t really bely the brains and bangingness which lie within. Modeselektor’s flex is all low end electronica, sub crunk woofers united by techno. Let Your Love Grow with Paul St. Hillaire words gliding atop was glitched ragga thump with a heart while The Black Block, Hyper Hyper, Hasir and Kill Bill Volume 4 brought the rave rain down on us all.

By the time the pair popped two magnums of fizz all over the crowd in some sort of orgasmic, weird celebration of all things big and hard, we were down the front, roaming on a mosh pit style flex.

Bristol’s big man - Joker finished us off by playing a groovy selection of all tings techno and dubstep. Rinsed on the crystal funktion one system in Fabric’s main room was something to behold and the perfect foil to the German duo. My mind was proper blown by his business - Like the man with the milktray - Sleek, elegant yet you wouldn’t mess with him cos he’d have you up against the wall with one hand round yer throat and the other playing with your balls…

The aftermath was long - But more than worth it. Hello Mom. Not until the day after the day after fingers crossed...



Outside on the streets - they call it papping nerdstyle



Furtive email checking



Lift off



On it Thursday stylings

Incidentally when they played Kill Bill VI, it looked a little like this...

Fact-based thoughts...

Plopped out a few bits of vitriol for Fact Magazine da other week...

Review of latest Vitalic business here

and The Bloody Beetroots here

The latter is a right load of jellied eel wearing bollocks. But Vitalic is pretty hype despite sounding like 2003 yet skinnier and perhaps even more out of it. Sort of. The video encapsulates those moody Nag Nag Nag vibes perfectly...

How to enjoy a shit sandwich...

Change is a coming - Shit has been going down - this is what's been happening during the last month or so...



Chilli pork in Clapham...



Final meal in the church - microwaveable fish pie is best enjoyed with a plastic spoon



Pixies at Brixton - encore dry ice flex...



Liverpool Street Tron vibes



On the hoof



Horse and Groom - toilets speak the truth



Trevor Jackson (aka Playgroup) in the mix



Birthday chicken



A Sheffield breakfast