How'd you learn to do the things you do?

Another big weekend has almost passed in a blur of beer and nighttime business. During daylight hours, I've inexplicably had Carly Simon on repeat. The neighbours are sick of it as well as my horrible rendition of it in the kitchen. 'Why'd you have to be so good?'

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



Classy



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



Salvation



Concealing second lunch under first - classic



Dal flex



Messy messy



Refresh

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.

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…



Day-to-day



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



Dad raver



Inside



Winnie...



Pre movements japes



The first offie trip's haul



Straight composting



Environmental flex



Ticket to the rave



Jive talking



Mash up



Disgusting



Just say yes



Fingers'n'chips



Fake benjamins



Cock



Better cock



21st Birfday vibez

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...

Greatexpectations by Kissthefist on Mixcloud