It's Christmas

Last minute non-festive review flex

Ahhh - nearly fucking made it to Christmas. Almost there. Let's cut to the fucking chase. Here's a pair of reviews recently knocked out - one's on the above Brandt Brauer Frick's debut album. It's like techno made on classical instruments and stinks of Matthew Herbert's under arm. Which is a good thing innit.

Brandt Brauer Frick You Make Me Real album review

The other is on Sheffield's new guitar heroes, Starlings. I know!

Check that over here...

Starlings Weight in Gold review

Breton go Hemlock...

Breton are one of the many bright new hopes having their name bandied around by those who put great importance on lists - best of the year charts and big tings are cooking for next year charts are annual bookends for music lovers. You can't move for the fuckers. And, as you get older, and a little more weary, you find yourself seeing similar faces and similar sounds. I guess that's just the way it rolls...

Breton are one of those acts, who, right this minute, would probably give every A&R man in the universe a mad lob on. They possess an indie wail, a dubstep bounce and plenty of Foals-esque angles. You can check my review of their debut on Hemlock below...

Breton - Counter Balance EP review

Jacques and Jamie meet each other and head uptown

Get out the umbrellas. Suddenly big tunes are raining down faster than you can say 'cats, dogs and student protests'. It's suddenly pouring with bigness. Or I've just been slow on the uptake... I've been playing these on repeat for the last seven days. Jacques Greene is releasing shit on the likes of Night Slugs and Local Action. Jamie XX is the XX's steel pan head - Can't stop the rock...









Bonar Bradberry may have the best name in wide screen, cosmic disco but he's also got some serious music up his sleeve...



And although Kanye West posted this earlier in the year, I've only just found it...

Cirrhosis, mistletoe and wine

December is one of the most brutal months of the year when it comes to binging. As the countdown to Christmas hots up and the desire to be at work totally evaporates, drinking is everywhere. There is no escape. The only way round it is to gird one's organs, man up and get down to business. Clinky clinky.

'Business' began in earnest last week - Tuesday involved a text book post work binge which almost led to meeting a man about a dog somewhere on the other side of London. Thankfully the less manly (or more sensible) option of test tubes full of jager was chosen, which just about made Wednesday doable. Just.

The following evening saw us darkening the doors of Soho and the seedy environs of numerous haunts in and around Old Compton Street. The first boozer was overflowing with gazillions of bears and men in dresses. After numerous bickers and stellas, we ended up in GAY until way past a time approaching common sense for a school night. As you may or not expect, David Guetta was the main meal on the musical menu. Classix.

Thursday was the final school night session - flipping and reversing the campness and ripe sexuality of the previous evening for a dose of manliness in the form of the Pig's Ear Real Ale Festival in Clapton. The vibe wasn't men in dresses - more old, lonely blokes in shorts with facial hair sniffing down hard on ale nerdery. For these gents, ale is life. It was also pleasing to see that the purveyors of cheese sandwiches hadn't snuffed it in the year since the last event. Hats off to Neil and his unnamed mate. They've made it through another 12 months. Which, if every month suddenly takes on the boozey mantle of the festive period, could be unlikely for some of us. Eek...

Kabal on a mixtape flex

Many of the best nights out in Sheffield take place down the cracks of the city. So if you want to reach the heart of its electronic pulse, then you'll have to get on your hands and knees and stick your ears to the ground.

Kabal has been one of the longest serving, yet resolutely underground evenings the city has served up over the past ten years. With residents such as wafroed new boy Toddla T and Steel City rave veterans Pipes and the FMG, the evening has managed to consistently serve up a fresh sounding dose of music both old and new. And, by hosting events in a variety of backrooms, basements, warehouses, and even converted churches, the uniqueness of the location has always helped each Kabal add up to something much more than just another club night.

This 'clandestine night for party freaks' has a series of parties coming up as the end of the year hoves into view culminating in a massive do on new year at a secret location in Sheffield. To celebrate, they've posted these two mixes on their soundcloud.

You can stream them below - both are big but in different ways...

Kabal Mix NYE 2008 by Kabal Where?House Party

Solid Chunks of Chocolate City - Sheffield 2006 by Kabal Where?House Party

DMX Krewwwww

ED DMX is a man in love with the power and mysticism of the synth. And in many ways who can blame him. He's been on it for time and his CV illustrates there are few others who have shown as much dedication or love to his analogue instruments over the years. He's one of the most consistently on it electronic DJs and producers out there...

I wrote a review of his latest (and possibly best) album - Wave Funk - for the Hyponik site. Check it here

And check out his blog over here

Fuck Yo Social Media Strategy

I know this isn't the real Dave Chappelle but if I close my eyes and make a wish I'm gonna convince myself it is. Just for a minute.

David (@davechappelle) has requested to follow your tweets (@itsajimting) on Twitter!

David @davechappelle

153	28,374	39,501
tweets	following	followers

In London Fields no one can hear you scream

Call me an ugly, old cynic but it seems that all creatives currently have some clause in their personal contracts allowing them to revisit the behaviour of their selves from 20 years ago, then rehash this output all in the name of raising some (probably much-needed) cash. Belts are tight, talk is cuts, hair is grey, moobs pronounced and even aging rock dudes need to make a living. Usually it's a total crock of horse shit but in the case of Screamdelica, the pre-rave album put together by Primal Scream and Lord Sabre Andrew Weatherall tings are different. The album is proper big and helped create dance music as we now know it. So you don't begrudge them too much their decision to recreate Screamdelica in the flesh.

Their gig at the Olympia was big and reflected the physicality of much of the majority of the Scream and their audience - everyone was looking slightly more saggy with only Bobby G resilient to the wind of change. He may have a pair of kids named Wolf and Lux but he's slighter than a pencil and dances like an absolute flower. No moobs on this mon.

G-man and his motley Scottish crue rattled through some of their hits before returning to don jet packs and fly through the more technicolour dub of Screamdelica, complete with backing choir and big boxes of electronic primordial soup. It was loud, euphoric and at times, a little bit ropey. Mani gurned his way through the entire show and they forgot how to play Rocks but it was still a massive gig. Plus the space was so big you could get away with smoking inside without any fear of getting caught.

One of the big bits to their comeback is the new appraisal of Weatherall - Everyone's suggesting he should be the next Peel which is nuts for a chap who can't remember much of the late nineties and early 2000s due to the amount of stimos he was on...

His latest 6music show which takes a peek at the influences behind Screamdelica is part of the reason why...

You can download it below

Andrew Weatherall 6Music Screamdelica show

Kiss the donner meat glove Hackney stylez

Weekends before and since Kiss the Fist, our erratic and irregular little evening of electronic business, have been characterised by regular bouts of sleeping in the wrong place. I'm not currently sure whether being pissed all the time constitutes being able to pin the tail of blame on a narcoleptic donkey or not. Probably not, but it has certainly been a crucial factor in losing a large amount of dignity, money as well as two phones and a bag of promo cds. Whoops? Whoops indeed.

Kiss the Fist itself was a pretty big look - We'd set the bar of brilliance pretty high with previous behaviour in the boozer - The word 'Cuntz' was bandied about in relation to certain members of the clientele during the last one - while only the previous weekend I'd taken it upon myself to forewarn the staff in the pub of what might happen by nodding off on a stool. And being unwakeable. You don't see Tiesto doing this. Do you?

The night itself could never succeed in the same way in terms of pure, unadulterated Corrie-style drama. But we had nuff tunes to show the handful of punters in there who was boss. And when that handful may or may not have include a Catherine Keener lookalike and How Clean is Your House 'star' Aggie MacKenzie then you know the audience needs to be judged on quality. Not quantity.

It ended somewhat predictably by nodding off following a blast of 'rave gravel' in a studio somewhere in the heart of Aldgate East. I grabbed 40 fitful winks while drooling on myself in a room full of fun time guys. And slipped down some stairs bruising my arse and tail bone. Plus operation reclaim hat and records from there is currently filed as 'ongoing'. So the night itself was a great success.



As part of our 'promotion' for the evening, we put together a little podcast of the sort of musical tackle currently floating the collective boat. One of the main talking points was the 15 inch donner meat pizza we took down as creative fuel. The one above is much rougher than the one we ate (the images were on me lost blower). It was almost too nice?

You can stream the podcast here

Getting a Droop E on...

Shiiiiit - November's gone and December is slipping by like a hot sword through a block of off lard. Much has gone down and gone missing in the inbetween time. First up is this... Props to one Bob Funkhouse for pointing us in the direction of Droop E



You can download the whole of his Black Diamond Life mixtape over here.

Carry on up the duff

The weekend has vanished in numerous puffs of smoke and gargantuan swigs of beer. Not remembering getting home can be a strong, yet paranoia inducing look. Which is the one I'm currently sporting - fearful.

Big news is one of my house mates is preggers. I'm crossing my fingers for a home birth...



Kebab juice



Home reading - thankfully you can still be glam when 'with child'

Kiss the fist - don't touch the wrist

Yes yes yes - The London Fields boozer is letting Kiss the Fist, our evening of party electronics, take a monthly Saturday slot. Which is almost unbelieveable considering what went down last time. DJ abuse, drinking, smoking indoors, deck failure, shouting at punters, getting shouted at by punters - it ended in my kitchen at 5am drinking week old wine. Delicious.

Despite these shenanigans, we're moving up a gear by taking on a Saturday evening down the local battle cruiser beginning next weekend on November 20th. So see youse there - It's gonna be a fresh look and these are the some of the tunes I'll be wearing...

Juicy

November November November - in some ways the cruellest month. It's still close enough to summer for shorts to be gazed at wistfully, yet night descends like an all enveloping wizard's sleeve before you even leave work. And you know you've still got to wade through some serious shit before you reach the sanctuary of Christmas.

So, in some ways, it's crucial to seize the day during this time of the year. Or you can continue down the same path you've been following for the last 12 months. Decision decisions...



Toni and Craggs



Double papping ducks



Jools, joints and juice



Queasy birds

Dreams can come true

Birthdays - If you wake up before midday and wish really hard, then you can achieve all the things you'd like. Failing that you can get up late, enjoy a fry up and then get messed up at a dubstep night until dawn's crack opens. You can imagine which option was enjoyed around here for our man Craggs. It was big on bass, grease and energy drinks.



Lads at brunch



Chicken playing the sex sax



Paedo's paradise



Dubstep skronkathon



Bin's got bare moves. Bare. Moves.



Hoods up



Rattus Rattus Rattus Rattus



Running scared

Down in the dam

Amsterdam - Oomph. The whole of last week was spent working there at some mad technology conference ting - and unfortunately no time was spent investing in a marathon tear up of the coffee house scene.

No matter. Despite the large buckets of work we swam through, the candle was well truly and burnt at both ends for the five day stay. Injuries, beers and schmoozing...



Night one



The colonel



Baron von Woofhousen



Music for bankers



Free flex



Raw fish and caviar in the hotel eatery



50 euros worth of Lobster thermidor - ouch



Enjoying oneself with Pringles in bed - fucked



Airport



Sanctuary



This is fucking Europe mate. We do things differently here

MOBO shake down...

The MOBOs is the annual Music of Black Origins awards - and to celebrate and build up a bit of hype in the run up to the 2010 event itself the organisers put a tour together.

We went along on the junket flex to Islington's O2 venue, which is in the shopping centre round them parts. When we got in line for the metal detector, it transpired that pretty much everyone in there was on the junket. Them peoples was astute - I'd have pitied any fool who'd had to fork out dosh from their own pockets to check some of the weakness on display.

The bill was proper boil in the bag - perennial UK try hard Donaeo looked well pissed off to have agreed to be included - and rushed through his set like a man who'd have rather have been bathing in someone else's shit than performing in that room.

Aggros Santos is supposed to be a serious contender in the game - but his miniature stature and elderly backing DJ only provoked hysterics. His performance proved to be a real low point in the evening - he leaped on stage at the exact moment the £4 pints suddenly developed the flavour of line cleaner....



The final act on the bill was Skepta - a man who used to be one the muckiest boys in grime - but has given it up for a way with a cheesey pop ting. We left before he'd even got half way through.
As a gig, the MOBOs tour was one of the worst. The pits. A sow's ear. It's one saving grace was the brief appearance of JME - and he was only on stage for one tune. Whatevs though. He made the struggle of those £4 lagers worth it. Keep your ears on him...

Ever danced to witch house in the pale moon light?

The clocks have gone back and everyone's wearing scarves. Jesus fucking h. It feels like it was shorts wearing weather only a few minutes ago but getting one's pins out now would be a well bad idea. The ever quickening movement of time's fingers now means we're condemned to months of permanent night - it's freaking dark before the end of work bell tolls. Thanks. Thanks a lot.

Now that winter is fast approaching, you'll probably want summat which comes with a smile to prevent you from throwing yourself out the window. If this is the case, then you're probably best avoiding Apparat's DJ Kicks mix business.

I gave it the once over for Resident Advisor - it's a suitably intense, earnest almost emo-esque take on whatever it is which comes after dubstep - witch house innit. It's serious dance music which is difficult to dance to for serious types to get serious over. Serious.

Apparat's DJ Kicks mix

Elsewhere, I've scribbled a few other little bits and bobs for FACT's website. First is a solo ting from one of the berk's from Animal Collective. The second is from bass king Zed Bias and his housey housey alter ego. Big up...

Avery Tare - Lucky One

Maddslinky feat. Omar - Special

From the pavement to the kerb

Last week was a funny seven day session - it began, as they so often do, with a hangover. It had the crushing low of not being able to get inside Gregg's due to the continued crowds clawing at the windows. There was fish. There was drinking aplenty come Friday and Sunday. I even had the opportunity to finger £3,000. Ghetto business...



Mackerel bake - burnt



Benjamins



Kid Acne in Ninja Tunes new book - check it over here



Skint man's dinner



Posh man's lunch



Buildings and ting

Drums of Death gets it in the fridge

As the autumnal months have started to kick in, the digital quill has been given a sharpening.
I've been getting down to it for Fact and churning out some review business.

If anyone gives a shit, you can check the following by clicking on them links... Yes yes

Drums of Death - Generation Hexed

Holy Ghost! - Static on the Wire

Shortstuff - Summer of Shortstuff

Movements

In between bouts of drinking, nappy changing and oyster eating there was a house move going on over last weekend. Another compadre has left the bright lights of the smoke and headed to foreign climes. This time it's Berlin. It's a hard life int it?

To ease my guilt at repeatedly acting like the class clown I helped lug a few boxes down some stairs for the little tinker. I'm pleased I did. Otherwise the wonders of the Aladdin Sane-era Bowie image below would probably have forever remained a mystery. I think it may well be the most horrific thing I've ever seen.