Monday, 28 February 2011

Vibez vibes wives

The last week has seen the vibe spiral out of control. Thursday nights are rapidly becoming too much to handle. The Dolphin and their ever generous opening hours have a lot to answer for...

Bloody, bloody, bloody Mary


The bar is called Jetlag. It must be run by cunts


Concealing second lunch under first - classic

Dal flex

Messy messy


David Holmes Essential mix

Props to Danimalswainger for digging this up - David Holmes was one of THE DJs when beats first started stirring my musical loins - and this mix was the one. Some kind tinker has whacked it up on Soundcloud as a download - it still has it in spades. Hope Holmes is keeping busy...

David Holmes - Essential Mix of The Year '1997 by djmixes

Just cos you're on a diet don't mean you can't look at the cakes

The end of February is nearly upon us - and sounds have never been so juicy. Here's a little selection of what's been keeping us bouncing at the breakfast bar, on the bus and in the pub. I've been making words but this has been dancing behind the eyes. Crack 'em.

Sunday, 27 February 2011

Where did you get the stuff?

Buses and journeys upon them have been a stain on my blotchy existence for time. Everyone’s got one cross to bear and, apart from a number of aesthetic issues surrounding my face, buses are near if not at the top of the list.

Catching (as opposed to eating) a double-decker as a specky youth would involve spending large slabs of the weekdays journeying to and from school - and subsequently wishing for a fast forward button so this part of life could be escaped a little quicker. Being a total fucking little nerd ensures that if shit is gonna go down on the top deck, then you, your glasses and your crap hair will probably get involved. So bus rides regularly included desperate bids to duck out of the way of biscuits and kebabs while simultaneously attempting to not be set on fire by a fellow ‘yout’ with a can of Lynx, a lighter and a big attitude.

Thankfully no matter how much of a fucking geek you are, age seems to act as a protective veil when boarding a bus - You no longer have to suffer the indignities of being frazzled or having a packet of Maryland wrapped round your head. However, due to the unholy trinity of poverty, poor planning skills and expensive train prices coach travelling is still well familiar - any time the Sheffield to London jaunt raises its head, the scenario usually dictates that boarding a bus is the only way to go. The Rude Movements party, which we descended on last weekend, involved such a journey. It might snatch ten hours of your life away but the National Express is so fucking cheap it’s almost disgusting. It is disgusting. You may enjoy all the personal space, comfort and toilet facilities of a battery hen but those bastards cannot be accused of being wallet rapers. So in a way, props. Sort of.

Actually landing in South Yorks on the Friday eve following a five hour bus flex was a big look. The journey itself was as cramped as a cat taking a leak in a thimble but the euphoria of escaping the travelling sweat fest was mega-large. The whole journey neatly encapsulated Keat’s pleasure and pain theme with the emphasis on the latter. But escaping the bus was so large, it ensured that the previous evening’s hangover didn’t do owt to get in the way of an outrageous thirst - Like a pack of beery arrows, we flew straight to the Sheffield Tap (located on the freaking platform at the station) and guzzled down pints until kicking out time - then built the binge an extension up at Sawa where local mashheads the Squires of Gothos were playing a 21st birthday party. They played with their tops off and their big, bad bass hanging out - We felt pensionable at the time but I felt even older when I eventually crawled out of the bed the following day - Turns out mixing ouzo with lager transforms you into a geriatric.

Despite such wounds, Saturday was a blur of business - the captain interviewed bass documenter Shaun Bloodworth in the day time, which involved asking the man a series of quizzles about his photography game while attempting to not scare him away with beery halitosis - Punctuate this activity with five caffeinated brews and it wasn’t until alcoholic drinks started flowing again that the ship of sanity righted itself. Or became even more wonky depending on your point of view. . .

Other than catching up with old muckers and general vibing, Rude Movements was the big draw of Saturday night. Going off down at an old factory on the way to Meadowhall, the location, nocturnal vibe, sonics and intoxication levels all added up to summat proper mindbending. Luke Unabomber and Winston Hazel tore the darkness in two in the back room with bumping house and disco, lakes of reverb and a mike - When the Mancunian dweller played Storm Queen’s Look Right Through it was a real ‘That’s so big I need a catheter’ moment. Hood up, brandy liqueurs, smoking inside, hands in the air, screaming, lairy vibes. You couldn’t help but feel it.

In the other, larger room, it was up to Zed Bias and Toddla T to do the damage, which they did with plenty of aural buffness. ‘Nuff bass and ‘nuff parkin’. Both of them slammed it until way past our bed time which we made it to due, in part, to the power of the balloon. One young gentleman (big up) was kind enough to sell these delicious gassy monsters which kept us baying at the door of the dance until well fucking late. It was a classic Sheffield rave - smiles, darkness, rubble, naughtiness, amazing sounds - but ensured that the return leg of the bus journey was a truly painful experience. It’s fine boarding a coach still pished but the sobering up part is fucking awful. So awful that the only sensible course of action appeared to be to dismount the bus at Golders Green and walk the rest of the way to Hackney. Which, for some guilt-ridden reason is exactly what happened. If there’s anything to take away from the weekend, it’s that South Yorkshire (and those who still reside in its leafy bosom - thanks for having us) is ace. And buses are shit. Next time get the fucking train…


Post Rude Movements breakfast - not ready (for the bus)

Dad raver



Pre movements japes

The first offie trip's haul

Straight composting

Environmental flex

Ticket to the rave

Jive talking

Mash up


Just say yes


Fake benjamins


Better cock

21st Birfday vibez

Tuesday, 22 February 2011

Apples and tunes

Big tunes have been popping up all over the shop during recent weeks - and the smorgasboard of seemingly sources is getting more random. Sign of the times innit. But the quality is pure. The new Oneman mix for the Hudmo-affiliated LuckyMe outpost had this beaut from Starkey on it. The tape is a gritty snapshot of where bass has been, is now at and where it's heading. Get your tits on it...

Last weekend we were up in Sheffield for the massive Rude Movements party with Toddla and Zed Bias. Our warm up consisted of drinking a wide range of lagers and checking Magic FM - this bad lad and the lass below were two of the best to pop up while the vibe was getting saucey. Ooof...

The last one is so fucking house it hurts. Proper end of the night uplifting vibez - when one gets offered a new job it should be compulsory to listen to this smacker on repeat until your head explodes...

Great Expectations

The London Fields Pub has stopped making sense again and invited Kiss the Fist to return to the decks for a night of chaos and dancing... Thankfully Def Stef has put together this little mix as part of the monstrous promotional trail we're blazing...

Get your peas out for the lads

Vibes have been pretty fresh and clean round these parts - although the whole of February has been spent with a pint pot seemingly glued to one hand. No change there then. Apart from drinking shitloads and acting the fucking goat, February has been the month of fulfilling one new year's resolution in the subsection marked 'more talk, more action'. Finally the plunge was taken and a vat of pea soup was boiled up. That's right. Big looks all round on the pea soup...

Pea soup

Murderer's gloves

Even mugs get fearful on Monday mornings

Too many rolls, too many many rolls

Mushroom strog - Delicious yet right trumpy

Goths out at night - no surprises

Broken dreams

Late night post Djing snack - as recommended by Sven Vath

Tall snakes

Sunday, 13 February 2011

Darts darts darts darts darts

Darts, darts and more fucking darts. There's a lot to love about the noble art of throwing arrows at a board. Part of its charm lies in the fact that this is technically a sport based in the most precious of all locations - the pub. So being able to hold your own with the pints is almost as important as knowing where the board is located. Hence the amount of athleticism on display is small. Many of the stars are as big as barrels. It's beautifully contrary.

I luckliy had the opportunity to attend the first installment of the Premier League darts at the O2 arena through work - We were in a corporate box belonging to a bank - which felt a bit naughty to say the least. But fuck it. You only live once n'est pas? We took the clipper to the O2, then went into the box - We were so far away that being able to clock the score on the screens was tricky, never mind discern who was playing or where the darts were going. But there was shitloads of booze and food all of which we got right into like a bunch of rats up a brace of drain pipes. Big tings.

The vibe was incredibly heavy - there's a sense of extreme carnival at the darts - many attendees are dressed up and pretty much the entire place is pissed up. Which all adds up for largeness. One of the highlights was a ruck between a man dressed as a bumble bee with another chap who'd come as a bottle of Newcastle Ale wading in to assist. The darts players do a staged red carpet walk surrounded by young ladies in skimpy attire. One of the gents in our box said he went to the Lakeside world championship darts dressed as Freddie Mercury while his significant other manned up and got her Brian May flex on. This is the sort of weird vibe we're talking. Insanity abounds. I want to go back...

Come come Mr Bond

The O2's cig shop

Corporate fish and chips

Insightful shit in the O2 toilets from French warbling mega bitch

The rider

The aftermath

Lying to oneself

Tuesday, 8 February 2011

Keeping it rude Sheffield style...

February 19th sees the next Rude Movements party going on in Sheffield. If we're gonna reach, it's gonna mean a National Express bus there and back but the party looks fresh enough to make it worth the trip. I can already taste the aura of the man squeezed in the seat next to me. Bring it on. I'll be that man on the return journey to London. Hungover and hanging big styles. Drink it.

Ahem. Zed Bias and Toddla T are among the men doing their bit in the front room. Their collaboration, Koolade, which you can hear at the start of this Zed Bias podcast, is a right twitcher. In the back room it's Luke Unabomber and Winston Hazel. Their business reminded us of this youtube footage of legendary Sheffield night Jive Turkey which emerged some time last year. As per Winston is on it in this and the enthusiasm is large. Makes you want to get off your arse and dance to house music like a twat. Fresh flavours.

While we're in Sheff that weekend, my man, the Captain, will hopefully be interviewing the photographer Shawn Bloodworth. He's known as the dude who has documented much of the key figures in London's ever burgeoning dubstep and grime scene and does a great job of making the gaunt look even gaunter. If you head over to his website (which is here) you can watch a short film he made documenting what was going on in Sheffield's night life during 2010. Both bits of footage have been kicking about for a while but that weekend has a nice bit of symmetry agwaning - Old and new meet each other somewhere in South Yorks. Check the trailer for the Bloodworth film below...

Minds Locked Together (Trailer) from BRAINFEEDER on Vimeo.

Send a salami to your boy in the army

Writing tings has been on the agenda during the last week or so... Gone in hard on the new faces of UK funky, when in fact they might not even be from the UK.

JTPR are German, on Deep Teknologi, and make seriously tough music. This is muscular in the extreme while Hackman is from Leeds and makes chunky house business

JTPR FACT website review

Hackman Made up My Mind

French dudes Baron Retif & Concepcion Perez also made the cut on a more Parisian kitchen sink sort of flex.

Baron Retif & Concepcion Perez - Superman review HYPONIK

Sunday, 6 February 2011

Fun hurts

February has already proved to be A LOT and we're only in week one. Injuries to the ears, eyes, hands, fingers and buttocks have been sustained. We've got a massive, fuck off new telly which required some massive, fuck offf heavy lifting to get it inside. Lift with your buttocks. Elsewhere Throbbing Gristle members Chris and Cosey did a gig down at the ICA - Although the music was challenging, one of the best new discoveries is ordering 2.5 pints at a time instead of just the one. This way you have a half to savour while the barkeep is pouring the other two. It makes sense.

Massive fuck off tv ting

Bed time reading


Chris and Cosey


Fun hurts

New culinary horizons


Crack 'em


Naughty naughty