The other week we visited Bloomsbury Lanes. It was to check a gig from that man Kid Acne, South York’s answer to T-Pain. For a Friday night, it was predictably mental set amidst hoards of people get their rocks off and getting pissed in the lanes. That man Ackers stomped about bellowing out his hits through a sound system “made of custard” according to his bro Chips for the Poor. It was a fun eve and I passed out on the bus on the way back. Maxi-standard as they say.
Incidentally we saw two manly lovers who appeared to be dressed as cowboys at the lanes. I was shitted enough to pap them. These are the best of a very poor collection of 15 photos of these two ‘Brokeback bowlers’ as we affectionately dubbed them.
And here’s the video to Eddy Fresh, full of minor Sheffield celebs. Word.
As we’re in the mood for writing, here’s a couple of links to words I’ve squeezed out on the typewriter of late. For the Fact website there’s a review of Get Physical’s Final Song compilation, a collection of tracks picked by ice-cold Dj types as the song they would have sound tracking their funeral. The second (for Inthenews) is a waffle ting on N.A.S.A’s collaborative effort, the Spirit of Apollo. It’s in a weird format which they insist on using. I don’t know - see what you think You can check the verse here and here.
Writing about Final Song, opened up another line of thought for me - Which Djs would I wish to see dead. With the possible exception of Gilles Peterson, I’d be relatively happy for the selectors on the disk in question to stay alive for a while longer. Despite the penchant of many of ’em to bore the pants offa me (Ricardo Villobos - I’m looking at you here sunshine) there are many more bastards who deserve to feel the reaper’s wrath. Two fingers up at bad vibes. This is vibes.
If I had to pull the trigger on a member of the djing elite Tiesto would have to the one to taste the dirt. Inexplicably the top DJ in every poll ever, this Danish muscle man is a purveyor of trance and to many idiots across the globe some sort of demi-god. He’s a twat as he takes his work (let me remind you - it’s trance we’re talking about) very seriously, describes his last few years as a ‘journey of defining moments’ and has pushed the concept of brand in dance music as far as it will go. Someone should do us all a favour and push this cunt in the canal. Shank him.
If you're a hater, then join up with this lucid dude here. He's also a hater and is not afraid.
Here’s how bad he is…
If you manage to watch the whole of this shite, then you'll need some sort of earwash. Try this. It's one of the tunes from Steak, a piece of French cinematic oddness with input from Edbanger stars SebastiAn, Mr Oizo, Sebastian Tellier and Kavinsky. It's joyous and mental. Props to her Bajesty for digging it out.
It's been a while bozos. But it's been a lot. Here's the first bit of January business we got oursens down to. Night of the Tiger in a poncey venue in London town... Here are the words. I-DJ will publish it at some point but here it is first. Standard.
With the recession finally confirmed it means even the most rampant of hedonists are being forced to tighten their belt. To provide an antidote to these credit crunched times, it was most kind of Tiger Beer to acknowledge the financial woes of the capital’s nocturnal warriors by throwing a free party. Featuring the skills of Annie Mac, Tayo and new bass bin bugger Mumdance, Night of the Tiger was set in the horrifically tacky environs of Studio Valbonne. The awfulness of the locale was only enhanced by the night having the vibe of a Big Brother wrap party, but thankfully with much better, bigger and more banging beats.
The theme of the ‘Orient’ meant we were welcomed by ladyboys on the door, kung fu fighting graced the stage and fortune cookies were lobbed about with gay abandon. Horse Meat Disco’s resident tranny, Jonny Woo was the made up general of the Tiger-drenched disarray.
With all the extraneous fuss it didn’t appear that many people were bothered by the music but it was the sharpest thing about the affair. The soundsystem bounced with global bass from the get-go with Mumdance leading the charge dropping heavy joints from the likes of future heroes Duke Dumont and Radioclit. Annie Mac, looking every inch the globe trotting star she has become in the past two years, played it harder and more four-four while Tayo brought out a lorry load of bassline, inspiring a stage invasion and bouts of frenzied boogying.
By the time we left Mumdance was back on, the place was rolling with Tiger empties and the last few party people still standing were giving it some. As a snapshot of where bass is at, it was spot on – in terms of a proper party, a fake fur imitation.
This is MumDance - Check his Ghetto Bass mix here for a unique flava
