oneintheear: August 2015

Thursday, 27 August 2015

John Waters

Director, writer and now artist, everything John Waters does is covered in a thin veneer of utter filth. His film Pink Flamingos features drag queen Divine who notoriously eats a pile of dog shit to prove how disgusting she is. It's good stuff.

So in line with this vibe, We went to his exhibition recently at the Spruth Magers gallery in a posh part of London. The civilised surroundings most have been chosen as a sharp contract to some of the base business going on inside. Porn novels, badges, guns, more porn and a film of kids reciting his film scripts were some of the best bits... you need to wash your hands afterwards while cackling hysterically...

Thimk

'I FUCK NUNS'

Inside Super Kebab's robo kebab arm

Glastonbury Festival has a fire breathing spider called Arcadia. It's an engineering feat acknowledged with equal awe by ravers and architects up and down the land. Super Kebab at the bottom of our road, arguably the Glastonbury of takeaways, has a similar, yet much smaller robot which is no less of a technological achievement. It doesn't belch out flames or contain techno DJs. Instead it slices the elephant's leg of meat no questions asked bruv and at double quick time to satiate the needs of local drunks.

You'd think that the gents who work there would be concerned by their jobs being potentially put at risk by this new piece of equipment. But instead, they love it, as much for the amount of attention its generating as the time it saves deftly slicing meat up. Whereas before these chaps would be hacking at the meat and sweating their tits off, now they can concentrate on frying the chips and exchanging bants with the customers. It's a win win all round. We're waiting with baited breath to see whether anyone else takes up the challenge thrown down by Super Kebab. But as always, our boys are one step ahead. That's why they're the fucking best.

Super Kebab are so powerful they have invented their own time

In line with the other tourists

Tuesday, 4 August 2015

Balloon party with Mike Skinner and Murkage crew

Clubbing in London can be sometimes be more hard work than the total gleeful hedonistic hit it should be. 'Oh boo hoo mate,' I hear you say. 'Boo hoo - is it getting tough now going out all the time getting murked? Shall I get my oboe out for you and give you a sad tune to commiserate life being so tricky? Honestly you're making me well up over here at your plight.'

No fam, you don't need to do that for it is very much not a REAL problem. But as you probably know the capital is full of a lot of cunts who can turn a night out into an endurance test rather than an ecstatic thrill. Pricey pints, overly sold, nobs everywhere, po-faced people, in a 'secret warehouse location' not having a whale of a time getting on it?

Turns out you need to find a night put on by someone as fucked off with these so-called 'rules' as you. (although I'm not saying that everyone sticks to them - just the majority seem to forget about the joy). Mike Skinner is best known for being The Streets and inventing DIY, post-ecstasy computerised Brummie melancholy and lad biznarse. But is now putting on amazing parties with Manchester's Murkage crew under the banner of Tonga. We went to check them play a rammed Stonebridge bar at Glastonbury and last Friday at the Waiting Room in Stoke Newington - both were off the chain - the latter was small, sweaty with a Wetherspoon's around the corner, no one was being overly precious about mixing, just maximum emphasis on the music and the fucking vibe. At last.

Check out this ace mix for a flavour of the night... and get to know Skinner on his blog. He's a funny fucker mannnn...

D'Angelo @London's Roundhouse

'Rising from the dead' would be one (incredibly cliched) way of describing muscular soul dude D'Angelo's 2015. But it could be construed as accurate, for even by a holy fella's standards, he's enjoyed a pretty remarkable resurrection over the last year or so.

In December 2014 he released Black Messiah, an album that while not arriving wrapped in hubris, came 14 years after its predecessor and with enough sass, charisma and funk to allow even his most ardent fan to forgive him for the delay. How come it had taken so long? Well D'Angelo has been through the bloody mill mate - there have been deaths, drug taking, binge drinking, doughnut eating - pretty much owt bad that could happen to a gent happened over the preceding years, meaning its amazing that Black Messiah is as ace as it is. It also meant that the Roundhouse was cheering him on despite being an hour and a half late for his Monday night showing at the start of July.

Late he was but thankfully, he was willing to wave aside the curfew to play on and on, plucking hits from his previous releases, Brown Sugar and Voodoo. He might not have been as ripped when he stripped off for the Untitled video but he and his band The VanGuard came packing some serious heat a la prime time Prince or the Roots without the jazz interludes. We were so impressed that we even bought a t-shirt off a man outside for a fiver, summat we haven't done since we went to go and watch the Verve at Manchester Apollo almost 14 years ago. Swings and roundabouts as some (might) say...

Fuck work love disco

Shitttttttttttttttt has been really real, as you just know it's just gonna go when the days heat up, become longer and start getting their pins out for all the world to see.

We've been living life like its golden, with plenty of night times, weekends away and musical endeavours. So where we've been? Well you'll find our footprints at Dalston Superstore (thanks Tusk!), the Lambeth Country Fair (thanks Odyssey!) and the Walthamstow Garden Party (thanks to Jen and Andrew for letting us jump their fence into the park). We've been carried to an inflatable bed in York after going a long way for a BBQ, been house hunting and had more contactless transactions at the Marquis of Lansdowne than is really acceptable. Whoopsy daisy...