Thursday, 24 September 2009

Sabres of Paradise - Smoke Belch

I've just returned from the Sheffield Warp20 party last weekend. A few words will be strung to illustrate what went down at some stage. But this tune won't dislodge itself from between my ears. Andrew Weatherall dropped it at one moment after 4am and my mind melted. It's fucking right good. And epic. Very, very epic. And with David Holmes on the remix. Ooooh.


Lad 1

Lad 2

Lad 3

While the world and his wife were on the Isle of Wight chowing down on Kraftwerk and Fleet Foxes at the Bestival do and getting all doolally and high, a trio of us decided to set off to Debden House to camp for two nights of manliness. That's right manliness. At the end of the Central Line. It's so raw and masculine it's almost like Texas out there.

This is how Essex Country Side describe this oasis of throbbing testerone...

"A spot where owls hoot over the tents at night, when the nightingales sing from the nearby thickets, and where shy deers come out to feed on the grass, a town dweller can find peace and rest."

They neglected to mention three of my/our worst fears - Dogs, Feds and Rules (aka DFR). Those fuckers were present in abundance..

We arrived in the dark (obvs - but not a problem. Men's men possess night vision) after hitching a ride with an earnest tree hugger. He had big qualms about oil but no probs with Maltesers or lecturing on the pros of 'transition camps' - His whole schtick sounded like a massive hippy love in and no place for a lad so we ditched him and set off for the fire field. Even though we hadn't booked. Shhhhhhhh...

Within literally an hour and a half our tents were up, we were drinking lovely beer and watching the barbecue warm up the meat as fast as a lighter. It was proper manly magic and could only be beaten by one thing. A raging fire. We were soon rawing around the woods ripping down young saplings to quench an insatiable pyromanic thirst fuelled by dancehall and euphoric sudofen. That fire kept our big, manly feet warm make no mistake.

The next day we were booted off the fire field. At the time the collective vibe was one of nonchalant despair. It was hot, the hangovers were reaching critical and we had the indignity of dragging our portable homes across the fire field in front of hoardes of cackling kids. Thankfully, it was like beer off a lad's hairy back.

We dumped our new homes in the non-fire field and set off to find the nearest boozer. Theydon Bois came and trumps and we were able to sink a few generous tops and chew the cud over a delightful fish finger sandwich.

When we returned we'd found a groomer had pitched up next to us with eight potential victims. A litre of pimms later, reckless laddishness had really taken over us all to the extent that one lad (who will not be named - what goes down at lad's night, gets whacked on the internet for 4 people to read) had to hit the hay. At five past ten.

At that point all cares were forgotten to the point where the remaining lads decided to set a great big fire going. In the non-fire field. Again, little trees were dismembered as we set about ensuring our 'barbecue' was well out of hand. It was so hot that the concrete surrounding it cracked and even the security came round to admire our handiwork. They told us to elevate our barbecue which we duly confirmed we'd do in the most gibbering manner possible. It didn't happen but they didn't return. Our luck was in, make no mistake.

The evening disappeared in a haze of smoke. It was so freezing that even this lad had to retire at 5am fully clothed, glasses and headlight jammed on in the fetal position. And the kids made it through the night seemingly unscathed. It was amazing and a real pleasure to be involved in such a noxious display of manliness. Only the presence of a couple of marauding vikings could have ramped the levels any higher. LADS LADS LADS...

Major Lazer Notting Hill Carnival wordage

Yo peoples -

Here's a few words I put together on our Carnival experiences. I sent it off to Resident Advisor but I guess it's pretty fucking long after the event and they haven't done owt with it. So here it is...

I'd also suggest checking this video of events from some dude called Ben Holman. It's a wicked snapshot of what was going down at the Major Lazer.

I'd say open it up here then read the crap I'm spouting below. Yep that's right. Do what I say. Wah!

Major Lazer @Carnival

The Notting Hill Carnival is summat I’ve never experienced before. It’s totally mad that for two days you can walk around a certain area of West London, swigging lager, stuffing yer face with meat and toking on doobs while the federales don‘t appear to bat an eye. Plus at every corner there’s a punishing sound system wobbling all over you where grinding and biftas are the order of the day. It’s a parallel universe that I wouldn’t mind making permanent.

We’d taken in the delights of Sunday’s carnival, checking out 1Xtra’s Rampage sound system before dropping in again on the Monday with a hangover and a hankering for the dancehall stylings of Switch and Diplo’s Major Lazer. The pair had taken it upon themselves to host and headline a ridiculously free bash under the archway of a motorway flyover. We hauled ourselves up for the midday kick off to find the sun beaming and the red bull (who were funding the binge) flowing freely. Mad Decent’s youngest upstart L-Vis 1990 was ripping it up with MC Ninja on the mike in what seemed a set clanging enough for the end of a night rather than the beginning. The weirdness of a free bar was underlined by the surreal vibe of being under a flyover, the stage flanked by a pair of high heel wearing storm trooper-esque robots grinding in time to L-Vis’ flurry of buttery, bashment beats. It was the sort of slick yet mucky party that we never get usually receive an invite to.

The mid-afternoon was a flurry of carnival vibes - the skinny L-Vis 1990 rocked it hard for a lunch time slot while the beer gutted Jillionarie and hairy Mad Decent blogger Paul Devro ramped up the carnival vibes with some sick soca and bassline vibes. A shorts wearing Rusko turned the afternoon up via his ridiculous haircut and even squonkier dubstep beats. The excitement proved so much that Diplo sprinted on halfway through his set to provide a rewind, egging the almost moshing crowd onto further heights of dance floor based-bedlam. It was unfortunate that we missed the surprise showing of Jesse Rose due to severe caffeine distractions amid all the chaos. I’ve never drank a black bull before and jesus h I may not for sometime. I’ve never known such addiction.

Sheffeel’s Toddla T was the next target on the bass radar for us after injecting our gullets with more juice. Sporting big hair and checked shirt with MC Serocee and Lady Chann in tow, his set hit the Carnival nail on the head with enough sunshine to make the ladies shake it, but buff and bassy enuff for the boys to chomp it down too. Dropping DJ Zinc’s 138 Trek and Zed Bias’ Neighbourhood were particularly big looks as the dance floor melted as if some scamp had let off a digital stink bomb. While Toddles’ klang business was mad Major Lazer proved to be full on chaos. Switch and Diplo lorded it up in blazers while their crew of dancers and hangers on ensured their set descended into total mayhem. Fake Blood stage dived while MC and dancer Skerrit performed an impromptu leap between the legs of a waiting lady from atop a step ladder. Louder than loud, the pair mashed up their album big style into a wall of dancing, bass and Mad Decent seven inches, which were flung liberally about the place. We spilled out onto the streets of Notting Hill while Diplo’s Paper Planes floated through the fuzz of feedback coating our ears. In this case guns may not kill people but too much free red bull almost can…