Tuesday, 24 December 2013

Someone's on the phone - it's a fresh start and they're calling for you

2013 is nearly at its close. It's been a BIGGIE especially over the last few months. Fry ups, baking contests, chip butties, art galleries, culture. You name it, we've been doing it...

Hangover remedy

I'm not sure what's happening here but I don't like it

Christmas disguise

Club Kids
The mythical crow
Videos la
Karl and his cat

Free beers

Get in ma belly

The view from our gaff

Old school deserts

Getting all Mary Berry

The winning cake

Fucking smashed it

Favourite record of the year

Peaches the racist show dog

Bloody mary!

Meaningless home made Christmas card

Toff twat

December hangover crutch
Xmas work do lunch

Second hangover crutch

Ganja crew

Warp vs Tate Britain

Warp Records have been doing their electronic thing for years and have (some times) been a wee bit more studious than the boshier end of the bleepy spectrum. So with this in mind, it wasn't that surprising for the label to announce a collaboration with art bad boy Jeremy Deller and co-host a night of aural terror in the Tate Britain. Deller's History of the World shows off the interconnections between acid house and brass bands so makes for a natural fit with Warp. Excitingly there was a brass band billed to perform the acid brass classics that Deller had worked on some years ago as well as installations from Warp artists such as Hudson Mohawke and Rustie. All for free.

With no price tag attached, it was always going to be busy but the amount of hype and worry which went into getting in was something else. We hot footed it down after work to be confronted by a queue, but, despite what the internet was saying, not an unmanageable one. Inside though it was all very confusing with rooms full of art and music seemingly unrelated to each other. This lack of focus and a bamboozling map resulted in shed load of trendies wandering around looking even more vague and bewildered than usual. 

As is the way with these things, we spent a fair amount of time outside in the smoking and drinking section. We saw the new set of stairs everyone's been banging on about (nice stairs), then entered the main hall for the live music. This was a real spectacle with cavernous ceiling, neon lights and good noises. We caught the ambient, electronic noodlings of Dark Star which sounded suitably portentous/pretentious in that setting. Then the brass band were next up and as exciting as it initially was to witness brass instruments bashing through the KLF's What Time is Love, the lack of vibe and volume of bodies in the room had us heading to the door and to the boozer. It's amazing that this sort of thing goes down and is free for all but at the same time, a wee bit more focus and it could have been something more than the minor disappointment it was...

What's going on?

It was very, very busy

Checking the brass band

Monday, 23 December 2013

Pig's Ear Beer Festival

The Pig's Ear Beer Festival is a proper event in the Hackney pisshead's calendar. Now in its 30th year, the event takes place over the course of a week and is an excuse for a weird strain of men to gather together under one roof to sample a dazzlingly large selection of brews, make notes and mutter into their wayward beards. That is the vibe. Socks, sandalls, muchos facial hair, grumpy and ever so slightly smelly. We had a lovely time sampling some ales which tasted like butter, some which tasted of diesel and others which tasted of cheese. My guts were grateful that we only attended one of the five days... 

Steven Spewbag presents...

The battlefield - note large bloke quota

Enjoying a tipple

At one stage it felt like the room was spinning


Thanksgiving din dins

Thanksgiving is a date in the calendar which always passes me by without incident. But this year we were lucky enough to be invited to a very swanky gaff on Bermondsey Street to sit at a table and feast on loads of delicious fatty foods. It was marvelous and made incredibly funny by turning up slightly drunk and being subject to a snooty, slightly snotty lady called Christina. Her daughter 'owned' the flat we were at (Christina had bought it and bequeathed the up market gaff to her little angel). So this old bat rolled up and patronised us to fck. When she wasn't doing that, she was ignoring us. We drank everything we had, got politely asked to leave ('the party is wrapping up guys'), then our in-law was too pished to walk down the stairs. Big up all involved...

Christina's seat at the table
Listening to Christina talk about herself

Oh dear


More lols


Balearic Mike

Balearic Mike is one of my favourite DJs. Everything about him is ace. The name, the slight podge (gained from a life spent drinking beers and searching/longing for vinyl), the fact he's a Manc, his flowing mane of hair and funny dress sense all make for a character who's almost larger than life. Add up all that, plus his impeccable taste in music and you've got a right dude on your hands. We caught him down at the Dance Tunnel in Dalston where he played a load of hot boogie business for Disco Bloodbath.

He didn't seem too impressed when I drunkenly staggered over  to say how much I loved his aura. But hey ho - check out a mix below. It's top banana...


Balearic Mike in the  mix

Kiss the Fist is coming back

Kiss the Fist is our unreliable little club night and is returning for some New Year's Eve shits and giggles at the Crooked Billet booze in Clapton. If you ain't ever been, you can expect a lot of disco, binge drinking and possible tantrums. It's an event... for those in the team, see you there...

Heritage award with Orbital

PRS for Music gives out heritage awards to musicians and acts the organisation believes have done some great work over the course of their careers. It's an accolade which goes down with a wee ceremony and a few speeches and shiz. Me and my work buddy Carl had to go along to the last one with Orbital and speak to them about their first gig at the Garage in Highbury and Islington. Here are a few snaps and you can watch the video via the link below. You can almost make out my ugly mug in the mirror of the dressing room where the chat went down. Avert your eyes!



The big reveal