Music has been all around us for the past three months and rightly so. There's been some right heat being let out of the traps. Check these for pure bliss and ting...
Showing posts with label Numbers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Numbers. Show all posts
Thursday, 30 April 2015
Tuesday, 25 June 2013
SOPHIE
Numbers, lorded over by Scottish party boy Jackmaster, is one of my favourite record labels and their latest release - BIPP by SOPHIE - is one of the best they've stuck out in recent times. It's just so fucking weird. It's the first tune for some time that I've reloaded over and over on YouTube to try and get my puny mind round.
You can read the full review either below or on the Hyponik website here. Below the review you can check out the lead tune. And get your ears pinned back. It's a biggggyyyy...
You can read the full review either below or on the Hyponik website here. Below the review you can check out the lead tune. And get your ears pinned back. It's a biggggyyyy...
Wednesday, 8 May 2013
Two clubs, one pair of gloves and a whole lot of numbers
Hitting up two clubs in one evening is an indication of a fairly wonky outlook. Or perhaps just fucking terrible vibes in the first one you attend.
One March Friday saw both scenarios happen upon us and amounted to a lengthy 48 session which left brains and guts both battered and bruised. It just goes to show that bigger don't necessarily mean better when it comes to living it up large on the ever leaky barge.
Our first port of call was XOYO in Shoreditch for Benji B's first Deviation evening in da club. We lasted about ten minutes before fucking off. Too many men. Or kids. And truly terrible sound, possibly caused by too many bodies. What evs. The distorted, sweaty wall of fuzzy flesh drove us to the nearest taxi rank in search of summat resembling 'vibe'.
Our second rave den for the evening was the Question Mark bar up near Stoke Newington. This Residents night had the two men who warm up proceedings for the notorious Numbers party at the helm. So Bobby Cleaver and Goodhand were our hosts and they escorted us through the weighty end of the record bags with large amounts of aplomb.
It made for a much more low key, yet stimulating slice of musical pie. The distinct lack of total toss bags was a massive tick in its favour. Instead of nobhead, there were just a load of folk getting down in a basement to a fineee selection of electronic bigness like this one below...
And this...
The evening turned into night which turned into morning before we turned in. So Saturday was a suitably wobbly affair. Some food was eaten before we inevitably chose to take a plunge head first into a huge lake of lager. But enroute we picked up a pair of gloves. Furry. Radioactive looking gloves. It's like the Honey Monster had rocked up for a half and a stone baked pizza, then forgotten to take his mitts back with him... waaaahhh
One March Friday saw both scenarios happen upon us and amounted to a lengthy 48 session which left brains and guts both battered and bruised. It just goes to show that bigger don't necessarily mean better when it comes to living it up large on the ever leaky barge.
Our first port of call was XOYO in Shoreditch for Benji B's first Deviation evening in da club. We lasted about ten minutes before fucking off. Too many men. Or kids. And truly terrible sound, possibly caused by too many bodies. What evs. The distorted, sweaty wall of fuzzy flesh drove us to the nearest taxi rank in search of summat resembling 'vibe'.
Our second rave den for the evening was the Question Mark bar up near Stoke Newington. This Residents night had the two men who warm up proceedings for the notorious Numbers party at the helm. So Bobby Cleaver and Goodhand were our hosts and they escorted us through the weighty end of the record bags with large amounts of aplomb.
It made for a much more low key, yet stimulating slice of musical pie. The distinct lack of total toss bags was a massive tick in its favour. Instead of nobhead, there were just a load of folk getting down in a basement to a fineee selection of electronic bigness like this one below...
And this...
The evening turned into night which turned into morning before we turned in. So Saturday was a suitably wobbly affair. Some food was eaten before we inevitably chose to take a plunge head first into a huge lake of lager. But enroute we picked up a pair of gloves. Furry. Radioactive looking gloves. It's like the Honey Monster had rocked up for a half and a stone baked pizza, then forgotten to take his mitts back with him... waaaahhh
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| Smoking |
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| Pints |
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| Pagan vibes |
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| Under the table |
Monday, 2 January 2012
Numbers turn a car park over
If you've taken just a small amount of notice of the sort of shit going down in electronic circles over the last 12 months, then your ears should be well familiar with the work of Glaswegian label Numbers.
Hudson Mohawke, Rustie, Jackmaster, Spencers and Goodhand are the men at its core but their releases and dances have incorporated sonic action from the likes of cohorts Deadboy, DJ Pierre, Redinho, Jamie XX and other key electronicy, wonky players.
To celebrate what has been a mammoth year for the crew, they hosted a huge party in a central London car park for their dedicated followers, who turned out in their droves to pay their respects via the rave. The bill was a wet dream for any fucker who reckons their fingers are wrapped around the pulse with much of the aforementioned Numbers team representing heavy stylez.
We arrived already in a half mangled state to witness Deadboy and Spencer sparring over a snarly mixture of fresh fire and older electronic classics before Hudmo sent the place totally upside down. The oddly shaped gent played a crunchingly heavy mixture of r'n'b and classic hip hop as well as many of his own big 'uns to send the car park spiralling into overdrive. It culminated in R.Kelly's Bump'n'Grind, which was a fittingly daft conclusion to a sweaty, party hard set of b.a.n.g.e.r.s.
Our collective sense began to deteriote rapidly at this point. One of our number was lost down the front out of his box on two bottles of cheap plonk while the rest of us were baying hard and boogieing strong. Rustie carried on where Hudmo left off with a large locker of hyper-real tackle whereas Jamie XX and Jackmaster were slightly less garish with a more standard selection of house. Although this was how it looked from where we were standing. Which was near the back. We left before the dawn close to go back round our ends and sing-along to Coldplay albums for an hour before straddling the hay. Big business from a big, young team. Do your maths 2012. Numbers are coming for you...
Wednesday, 14 July 2010
Time to get funky at Numbers
The summer of 2010 has been massive thus far. July has been totally off the chain and it's slowly turning this year into perhaps one of the best ones ever. Ever, ever, ever, ever? Ever.
Start of the month saw us down at Fabric for the Numbers party. Numbers is a mad collection of Glaswegian piss heads, music lovers and DJs. From their sweaty bosom they've spawned the likes of Warp golden boys Hudson Mohawke and Rustie. They've also kept the flame for independent dance burning brightly with a shedload of big raves and parties north of the border.
So on one of the hottest Friday's on record, we got domestically messed up to the eyeballs before heading off into the night. The line up was almost hot as my underarms. Hardhouse Banton and Karizma, Roska were all big players on the bill. They played a right selection of mad tunes.
I can't work out whether Pon de Folay is the worst or the best thing I've ever heard.
The crowd itself was gnarly as you like. My companion described the rave as "200 men and 20 slags", which although arguably could be construed as slightly sexist, was bang on the money. Tottering legs, attitude and nerds in trucker caps abounded. It kinda felt like we were at a branch of Oceania somewhere in the midst of the Black Country.
Midly disappointing were the Numbers DJs themselves. Jackmaster's Sonar set from earlier in the year (which can be streamed over here) is impossibly good, taking in everything from Model 500 to Chaka Khan and Womack and Womack. Yet him back-to-back with Spencer seemed to lack something. Although this French Fries rhythm is a loud and honky beast.
Maybe we were too fucked. Maybe we weren't fucked enough. Anyhoo it resulted in us leaving about half 4 to roam back home across London with our trousers rolled up like a pair of nutters drinking 'beaters and shouting shit. A rare sight for the eyes. Watch out ladies.
The evening culminated in an intense rant ('the thing is, right, Fabric is like on our doorstep yeah. And when we go. It's a bit like being abroad. I'd come from abroad to. Go here. I think. Like. That's the thing. It's like. You don't hear this. Do you. Like anywhere else. Which is why it's amazing. Isn't it? Well isn't it. Yes.'), a wander round the local estate armed with small speakers and beers, then horizontally twitching on the front room floor until it was too hot to do anything other than get up. Restful? No. Funny? Very.
Start of the month saw us down at Fabric for the Numbers party. Numbers is a mad collection of Glaswegian piss heads, music lovers and DJs. From their sweaty bosom they've spawned the likes of Warp golden boys Hudson Mohawke and Rustie. They've also kept the flame for independent dance burning brightly with a shedload of big raves and parties north of the border.
So on one of the hottest Friday's on record, we got domestically messed up to the eyeballs before heading off into the night. The line up was almost hot as my underarms. Hardhouse Banton and Karizma, Roska were all big players on the bill. They played a right selection of mad tunes.
I can't work out whether Pon de Folay is the worst or the best thing I've ever heard.
The crowd itself was gnarly as you like. My companion described the rave as "200 men and 20 slags", which although arguably could be construed as slightly sexist, was bang on the money. Tottering legs, attitude and nerds in trucker caps abounded. It kinda felt like we were at a branch of Oceania somewhere in the midst of the Black Country.
Midly disappointing were the Numbers DJs themselves. Jackmaster's Sonar set from earlier in the year (which can be streamed over here) is impossibly good, taking in everything from Model 500 to Chaka Khan and Womack and Womack. Yet him back-to-back with Spencer seemed to lack something. Although this French Fries rhythm is a loud and honky beast.
Maybe we were too fucked. Maybe we weren't fucked enough. Anyhoo it resulted in us leaving about half 4 to roam back home across London with our trousers rolled up like a pair of nutters drinking 'beaters and shouting shit. A rare sight for the eyes. Watch out ladies.
The evening culminated in an intense rant ('the thing is, right, Fabric is like on our doorstep yeah. And when we go. It's a bit like being abroad. I'd come from abroad to. Go here. I think. Like. That's the thing. It's like. You don't hear this. Do you. Like anywhere else. Which is why it's amazing. Isn't it? Well isn't it. Yes.'), a wander round the local estate armed with small speakers and beers, then horizontally twitching on the front room floor until it was too hot to do anything other than get up. Restful? No. Funny? Very.
Tuesday, 1 June 2010
It's big and it's called Kavsrave
It's not often you hear something so on point you fall for it immediately. Like straight off. I feel like I've been listening to this new single by Kavsrave all my life.
It's on Jackmaster's Numbers label and is pure class.
Check it here and a little review I did gushing all over it like a little boy meeting his first ice lolly.
Kavsrave - Quotes EP review
I also found a little bit of time to write some verbal drool about Doc Daneeka's first EP proper. He's now living in Swansea and makes UK funky...
Doc Daneeka Deadly Rhythm EP review
It's on Jackmaster's Numbers label and is pure class.
Check it here and a little review I did gushing all over it like a little boy meeting his first ice lolly.
Kavsrave - Quotes EP review
I also found a little bit of time to write some verbal drool about Doc Daneeka's first EP proper. He's now living in Swansea and makes UK funky...
Doc Daneeka Deadly Rhythm EP review
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