No pain, no gain

The Christmas party circuit is one synonymous with binge drinking, memory loss and acute embarrassment. All three are a total given. Year after year I've limped back to see my parents for a couple of days at Christmas with a sore gut, a red face and a long list of apologies. Doing daft, cringeworthy shit while being out of yer gourd on beers is, at this time of year, how you say, standard.

However, this December I managed to push this 'feeling' onto a whole new level by consuming enough red wine to brain myself on the steps of Bank Tube station. I managed to knock myself out and subsequently woke up in A&E. I didn't stir until the morning after the night before, only to find myself in a ward full of elderly, crying types in Whitechapel hospital. I was down to me pants, hooked up to a drip and incapable of remembering how I ended up there. Whoops? Whoops indeed.



Props to any well wishes and for one Bob Funkhouse for coming to get us out of there with a fresh pair of jeans and a t-shirt (they'd cut the clothes I was wearing during the incident off due to me being out cold). After the patient hospital folk agreed to let us go, we walked home via a lasgne and watched DVDs for the rest of the evening. There's definitely a lesson in this somewhere as long as I choose to listen. My ears are open. Fo' sure.



The best way to recuperate from a fall is to watch Bridesmaids and listen to pounding future bass. Obvious int it...

From the penthouse to the pavement

It's not often you get props from your heroes - so I spent much of the other Wednesday walking on the metaphorical cloud nine after getting a big up from Chic main man Nile Rodgers. He'd happened upon a review of our experience at the Warehouse Project in Manchester back in November. He was down with our party vibes. And this is coming from a man who died 8 times in one night. That's quite a feat...

Adrian Sherwood - Dub Be Good To Me

I had the rare opportunity to ring up a dub legend just t'other week. Adrian Sherwood has been kicking the music industry at a low frequency for over 30 years so to celebrate this he's playing a few select shows and releasing as many records as possible. I was bequeathed his mobile number and asked to get to the bottom of him. You can read the results of our little chat below...

Click here for Adrian Sherwood interview

Chic @the Warehouse Project

November nights offered up a multitude of musical riches - but perhaps the fullest aural money bags were provided by Chic at the Warehouse Project up in Manchester. We were so giddy about witnessing them that we turned down an invitation to stick cat food up our conks at a party the night before. I know. Early(ish) to bed instead of staying up all night talking shite. That’s how seriously we were taking Nile Rodgers and Chic’s showing.

And up early we were - I was prancing round our kitchen listening to Spacer at half nine in the A.M. And reading about Jeff Mills spectacularly blowing out his gig, despite being offered a fat wedge and a limo from Manchester airport to Store Street where the WHP is currently located. Our journey was always all about Chic - so we didn’t give a shit that the wizard had decided to throw a wobbler and not bother showing up.

Despite the early start, we still almost missed the train. Almost. But thankfully, when it pulled off we were ensconced in our seats discussing death and swearing very loudly within ear shot of a young child. The journey was most pleasant. Lagers and big talk. We were even greeted at the platform by our kind host and driven to his gaff where we were treated to a donner meat pizza and a full fridge of lager. This is probably the sort of treatment Mills would have received if he could have been arsed. Mate. You bit your nose off here to spite your face.

When it came to lift off we were already royally rolling - the classic donner meat, bifta, strong lager combo had set our brains at a pretty high. Once inside, it was all about Chic and poppers. Lots and lots of poppers. Losing the lid on the original bottle met we had to buy a second dose while chain sniffing the first batch until there was nothing left other than our red faces and blistered minds. So by the time Chic came on to rapturous applause, we were in the cavernous arch way going totally fucking ape.

Despite their lengthy time in the game, Nile Rodgers and crew showed no signs of age or illness (Rodgers has bee battling cancer for time) and lifted the place off its feet wrapped in a bear hug of bright lights and even brighter disco. We completely lost our shit as they ran through their best bits at break neck speed. Spacer, He’s the greatest dancer, Lost in music, We are family - all performed in a lean, medley style - Johnny Marr even came on at the end in add a touch of Mancunia to Le Freak. It was big.

The eve culminated in retiring to our chum’s gaff to listen to Bon Jovi, watch Platoon and spend the next 12 hours twitching before boarding the train and returning to the smoke. A whistle stop tour of Manc for the a real disco extravaganza. Chic smashed it. Very good times…

You can read my Resident Advisor review of the evening by clicking here - it's gushy as fuck...



#havingalovelytime



#havingaverylovelytime



#havinganevenloveliertime



Train scran



Grainy proof that we were there - in body if not in mind...

Hitler was nice to dogs

Ooof - November has been a right vibe. A total vibe. Sleepless Sundays, delicious dining experiences and late, late nights spent listening to grunge and smoking cigs dreaming of the future. It's been a lot, passed in a flash and seen us avoiding bed for entire weekends. Thankfully my camera phone has ably documented some of the key moments and blurs. I've forgotten what the other ones were. It's like the late Tony Wilson once said: "When forced to pick between truth and legend, print the legend." True dat.



Omens with buffalos an' that



It's a quail ting



It's a roast ting



Saturday night in



Celebrating the arrival of a fresh pair of headphones - gangsta



Hackney tragedy



Good night sweet prince



Club Butt



A dock off leak



'hahaha useless fucker'



Factfinding crew



Night vision Ginsters



Heat




Pretty Green



Highly desirable artworks in Westfield



It's a pie ting



Mr eggy face in da area



Black pudding crew



Drinking sourz at Factory Floor



It's a hangover ting



Oof



A stolen moment at Kiss the Fist



Pre-Factory Floor dinner flex - yagga yagga



Con I carn't



Acid flex



Yeah boi



That cat is a fucking cunt



Suck the bones



A delicious rioja on a Sunday



Hello mate - You're fucked now. You really are...

Classic Is Your Friend

'Things that go bump in the night' is a phrase usually set aside for Halloween and the ghoulish and the ghastly. But it could also serve as a neat tag line for Classic Records and the line of thumping house music they've been pushing since the label opened its doors back in 1995. Manned by two house music heroes, Derrick Carter and Luke Solomon, Classic has proved to be a platform for injecting some of club music's finest moments into both ears and dance floors. Think Sneak's 'You can't hide from your bud' and Metro Area's Pina plus equally fruity electronic business from the likes of Swag and Matthew Herbert.

After a brief hietus following the 100th release, the pair recently decided to re-boot the label via digitising the back catalogue and making it available for all. And to celebrate, they've been running a series of parties under the banner of 'Classic is Your Friend'. We attended the one in London which was conveniently situated at a warehouse space in Hackney Downs, just a hop, skip and a stumble from our hood. In fact, the very same space where we'd got down to Oneman and his Standard Place crew just t'other week.

The vibe for this bash was much more housey and less hoods up compared with Oneman's bash. But the main room was where it was at - smoke - music - dancing - smoke - music- dancing - smoke -music -dancing - smoke. Rob Mello was dropping some seriously warm business to begin with while the smoke started to billow but it was the big DC who really showed the place what was what. He played a blend of uplifting housey house with the odd bit of disco lobbed in for good measure. But the beats were well bendy and matched our bendy feet until we couldn't bend dem limbs no more. Then it was time to retreat back to the gaff (after a brief skirmish with a shopping trolley) to keep the bend bending. Mint. Bendy. Night.

This mix from DC was the sound track to the warm up and the warm down. Still can't stop giving it some...

DERRICK CARTER - The Oki-Ni Hot Lunch Mix by Elite Music Management

Kiss the Fist vs a school night

Kiss the Fist returns to the London Fields pub turntables this Thursday evening for a four hour excursion into the electronic cosmos. Friday nights down at the Fields have been the scene of many disco crimes, much memory loss and subsequent paranoid hiding underneath the metaphorical duvet. It's a school night and work is definitely on the cards the following day so hopefully behaviour won't get as unhinged as previous outings. However, never say never....

Box Jams Volume Oneeee

If your heart beats to the electronic sound of the Hague or the cosmic wizardry of the Motor City, then you need this first Box Jams mix in your ears. Put together by our Sheffield buddies Juliun and Pat (of C90 and Rough Disko notoriety respectively) it's an hour plus run through a collection of jacking and acidic computer music. It's got some right monsters on here. I've been bumming it for the past few hours and doing some moves in the kitchen which are attracting some weird looks off the nosier neighbours. Fuck them. They've obviously never felt the full force of the Severed Heads. If you're in Sheffield, then they're throwing a do this Friday. Check their business here...

Box Jams Volume One by boxjams

They should be taken outside and shot

While the past eight or nine weekends have been full of wild times, the weekday evenings have been somewhat more sedate and bluesy. Just tied myself to the stool in the kitchen and devoured as much musical business as possible. Here are the fruits of ze labours...

Click here for Hyponik review of Sepalcure's self titled debut album



Click here for Hypoink review of Dave Clarke's Fabric mix



Click here for Hyponik review of Space Dimension Controller's Pathway to Tiraquon 6



Click here for a Stool Pigeon review of Mosca's The Wavey EP



Click here for a Stool Pigeon review of R&S's IOTDXI compilation

A public inconvenience

I'm a big fan of bogs. Aka latrines. Aka 'the Kaiser'. Aka the WC. Indeed partaking in a gentleman's wee is one of life's largest pleasures. Mounting the porcelain is perhaps the best way to get a bit of space in which to strain, enjoy a read and think about what the fuck's going on out beyond the immediate confines of your four walled palace. Like Andrew Weatherall and Sean Johnston's club night, A Love From Outer Space, it's "an oasis of stillness in a world of ever increasing velocity". Or as the Stone Roses may or may not have said: "Stop the world. I'm getting on."

Public toilets are a wilder beast - there's summat much more feral about doing one's business in a room where the only thing separating oneself and other strangers is a few strip of chipboard. Plus there are other associated condiments. The glory holes. Will there be any paper on which to wipe? Then there's the potential threat of being on the wrong (or right) end of a 'cottaging'. Almost anything could happen.

Worries aside, a Friday evening just t'other week was hung around the opening of a toilet in the George and Dragon boozer on Hackney Road. Those chumps behind Sheffield fanzine Go had retiled the ladies as a lament/celebration to the plight of the public toilet. They'd done a fantastic job on the grouting in what must be one of the busiest and sweatiest pubs in the world. Not only was this a glorious load of arty lardy de dar but it was pretty adept at holding a tinkle. I took a leak in there and can confirm that as a toilet, it worked wonderfully. So it manages to both functional and art at the same time. Nuts innit? You can go and take a leak in there until Dec 14th.



This graffiti was on the toilet's wall - it wasn't me

Nando's - A journey to the largest in the west

To live by the chicken and to die by the chicken - it's probably better than a sword. Or at least not as sharp. Unless it's a bird with a particularly large beak. But what evs. The birds they serve up at Nando's are a particularly fine bunch. Especially as they've been frame grilled and soaked in the delicious Nando's juice. But I'm preaching to the converted. Everyone knows how good Nando's is. Last Thursday I had what Time Out would describe as an "eating epiphany" by way of an adventure out of the E8 post code to the new shopping extravaganza that is Westfield. Everything in this joint is massive. Everything. But the Nando's there is summat else. According to rumour and hearsay, this is the biggest eaterie they own. You see it from some distance when you're leering past La Senza and got half an eye on the window of Primark. You have to approach the beast via escalator. But the journey through the crowds and shit shops is worth it. You get there and basically immediately cream your pants. I wasn't even hungry but still managed half a bird, the traditional two sides and numerous refills of coke.

When the Nando's staff came over to collect our plates of bones she had to double check that she could take them away. Her explanation? "Some of the customers just like to sit here with the bones for a bit. One woman got really angry when I tried to take them away even though she had finished eating."

Nando's. Props. That's just how good you are. Suck those bones dry...



A feast



A call to arms