The Wires are coming for you Machine Drum

In between drinks, sleeps, works and weddings there's been some serious records coming out. Machine Drum is an American fella who's sound is proper next galaxy business. He's all about elasticated bass and bleepage but with enough of a roar to put the wind up you. His Many Faces mini album is emerging on hype Glasgow label LuckyMe who've also helped out HudMo and Rustie. Witterings on about him below

Machine Drum FACT review

US try-hards !!! have also got a new record out. It's a punk funk party vaguely reminiscent of the Happy Mondays. They'd probably be more interesting if they all developed Shaun Ryder-esque drug habits. But they haven't. Read about it below

Chk chk chk Strange Weather, Isn't it? FACT review

End of the world vibes

Summer is drawing to a close - the wind is howling and the trees are swaying. I've been warming my greasy fingers on this mixture of old and new tunes since the wedding bells rang in Sheffield the other week. The bells. The bloody bells. There weren't any actual bells but if there had been it would have been sweet if they'd sounded like some of these bad boys...

Blasting to the past and back again...

Although there have been a lorry load of big and new tunes unmasking themselves all over 2010, I've been constantly reminded of great shit that I've missed. I don't know how. I must have been really busy with something.

We attended an impromptu Numbers party the other week down at Plastic People. Despite an overly rigorous search on the way, where I even had to take my specs off and smile at a camera, the night was intensely beefy. On a deeply nerdy level, the sound system is some next level business. Although it's loud enough to ensure your balls wobble, you can also enjoy a conversation with your dancing buddy without shouting so hard the veins in your tongue pop. Serious. Jackmaster was on the decks and he played this pair of bombs. Arguably an erection section but it was so loud my penis was cowering. Very fearful. Dick talk nonetheless...





I've also been feeling this one of late - they didn't play it at Numbers but it's got a big, salty hook in it and worth repping here. Oooof...

LADS HAVING A LADDISH EVENING LADS

Sometimes LADS just need to be LADS. LADS. For certain gents this can mean getting tanked up and getting their fists out. For others it can involve visiting a sexy emporium for a cheap, yet attention-seeking thrill.

However, we did something a little different. The other Wednesday night we managed to smash through some breathtakingly stubborn culinary taboos to enjoy a Lasagne sandwich. The best thing about it was the fact it was just one of a number of LADDISH activities we enjoyed. Who would have thought it? I was convinced you could only be so LADDISH in one evening. But, if you put your mind to it, you can do a range of manly tings.

Our evening began with some nerdy record buying in Soho, then onto a Sam Smith's boozer for their legendary £2.20 pints of Alpine. It was at this stage that the first Lasagne sandwich was unleashed. Despite looking like the sort of munch that only a terminally drunk goat could enjoy, this 'fusion' fodder is actually delicious. I don't use the word 'fusion' lightly. It's filling sure. Yet intensely delicious. In the long hot summer of 2010, the double carb hit is where it's at.



Being in Soho, arguably the must-head destination for a perve in the smoke, there was only one to take the evening deeper. Sex shops. Not for the pornography. But for the room odouriser. Turns out honking on poppers just outside Tottenham Court Road Tube is an intriuging look for tourists. Breath it in babes. And also arguably the only way to open up the stomach muscles to ingest more double carb action.

Back at the ranch, and with the scent of amyl burning the nose hair, we set about grilling the other lasagne sandwich. Grill it we did. If Deilia was dead, which I don't think she is, she would have been turning in her grave.



It was perhaps the most LADDISH evening of 2010. I've never felt more manly. Props to D for the images and video. Apologies for the ugliness...

Jammer! - Murkle durkle

2010 and grime has developed itself a sense of humour. Jammer, aka the Murkle Man, has been one of the main players getting grimey with it since day dot. He's gone from being a badass with a child's motor bike to a bona fide popstar. Sort of.



He's still the same mad man in the Murkle Man vid above - but now he's got a nice new wardrobe and a independent record deal. Plus he's posing on the front of his album Jahmanji next to an elephant. You can't get stronger than that.

Check out Ten Man Roll below - Produced by one of his old buddies and fresh DJ Mumdance, it's a big, catchy pop tune. My ears can't get enough of it...



I had the pleasure of reviewing it for FACT. You can have the dubious pleasure of reading what I had to say over here.

Lovebox was a lot

Groove Armada's Lovebox festival went down the other weekend in Victoria Park. In many ways it went off much more than it went down due in part to a strong line up, intense heat and even stronger merch.

We spent the Saturday evening outside the arena listening to the pensionable Roxy Music meander languidly through a smattering of hits and more obscure selections while watching the more messy contingent of the crowd get booted out. One young lady in particular was a sight to behold. Dressed in a leopard skin dress ting, she was unceremoniusly given the hoof before propping herself against a tree and screaming 'You're all cunts' at the top of her lungs. I've never heard such whinging from someone so totally out of their mind. She went for fucking ever.

Another dude in a cowboy hat rocked up sporting slightly more sunny vibes by arriving in a mutant tricycle. He spent the eve peddling up and down the track in front of us giving people lifts with a cart, which, like that girl, appeared to be increasingly on the brink of collapse. Make no mistake - the vibe was strong out there.

Sunday was our day, Grace Jones our woman and it was another scorcher. The afternoon passed in something of a blur, mainly due to a slightly twisted notion that as we were going to work the next day, the murkage should descend much sooner than later. This way bed would come easier, therefore making the forthcoming day at the office a more palatable proposition. Predictably this backfired on a massive scale. It meant we succeeded in massively high levels of self murkage. Headliner Grace Jones is a very hazy recollection. Although I do remember My Jamaican Guy.



Derrick Carter smashed it in the dust of the Rizla stage, which is fast becoming my favourite spot at any festival we visit while Cut Copy provided the perfect soundtrack to jumping up and dwon while smashed on cider. I spent an hour on a park bench after the festival necking beer in a vain attempt to calm down while conversing with a fellow fuck head about the healing qualities of liquorice rizla.

You can find a review of the day I pieced together down here.

Resident Advisor Lovebox Weekender Review

The image above is the singer out of Hard Ton. They release records on International Gigolos, make music which is possibly utter rubbish but have one great idea. That record sleeve. It's amazing...

The art of promotion

There's much more to being a DJ than just playing records. While tunes are your bread and butter, you also need to be an eloquent communicator, be able to strike up effective working relationships at the drop of a hat while having the talent to nail deals.

Ex-Fat Truckers man now DFA dude Ben Rymer shows he's got more than most in this exchange with Kiss the Fist player Chinchilla.

This is how we do it in Hackney. It's that simple. Safe.