Box Jams Volume Oneeee

If your heart beats to the electronic sound of the Hague or the cosmic wizardry of the Motor City, then you need this first Box Jams mix in your ears. Put together by our Sheffield buddies Juliun and Pat (of C90 and Rough Disko notoriety respectively) it's an hour plus run through a collection of jacking and acidic computer music. It's got some right monsters on here. I've been bumming it for the past few hours and doing some moves in the kitchen which are attracting some weird looks off the nosier neighbours. Fuck them. They've obviously never felt the full force of the Severed Heads. If you're in Sheffield, then they're throwing a do this Friday. Check their business here...

Box Jams Volume One by boxjams

They should be taken outside and shot

While the past eight or nine weekends have been full of wild times, the weekday evenings have been somewhat more sedate and bluesy. Just tied myself to the stool in the kitchen and devoured as much musical business as possible. Here are the fruits of ze labours...

Click here for Hyponik review of Sepalcure's self titled debut album



Click here for Hypoink review of Dave Clarke's Fabric mix



Click here for Hyponik review of Space Dimension Controller's Pathway to Tiraquon 6



Click here for a Stool Pigeon review of Mosca's The Wavey EP



Click here for a Stool Pigeon review of R&S's IOTDXI compilation

A public inconvenience

I'm a big fan of bogs. Aka latrines. Aka 'the Kaiser'. Aka the WC. Indeed partaking in a gentleman's wee is one of life's largest pleasures. Mounting the porcelain is perhaps the best way to get a bit of space in which to strain, enjoy a read and think about what the fuck's going on out beyond the immediate confines of your four walled palace. Like Andrew Weatherall and Sean Johnston's club night, A Love From Outer Space, it's "an oasis of stillness in a world of ever increasing velocity". Or as the Stone Roses may or may not have said: "Stop the world. I'm getting on."

Public toilets are a wilder beast - there's summat much more feral about doing one's business in a room where the only thing separating oneself and other strangers is a few strip of chipboard. Plus there are other associated condiments. The glory holes. Will there be any paper on which to wipe? Then there's the potential threat of being on the wrong (or right) end of a 'cottaging'. Almost anything could happen.

Worries aside, a Friday evening just t'other week was hung around the opening of a toilet in the George and Dragon boozer on Hackney Road. Those chumps behind Sheffield fanzine Go had retiled the ladies as a lament/celebration to the plight of the public toilet. They'd done a fantastic job on the grouting in what must be one of the busiest and sweatiest pubs in the world. Not only was this a glorious load of arty lardy de dar but it was pretty adept at holding a tinkle. I took a leak in there and can confirm that as a toilet, it worked wonderfully. So it manages to both functional and art at the same time. Nuts innit? You can go and take a leak in there until Dec 14th.



This graffiti was on the toilet's wall - it wasn't me

Nando's - A journey to the largest in the west

To live by the chicken and to die by the chicken - it's probably better than a sword. Or at least not as sharp. Unless it's a bird with a particularly large beak. But what evs. The birds they serve up at Nando's are a particularly fine bunch. Especially as they've been frame grilled and soaked in the delicious Nando's juice. But I'm preaching to the converted. Everyone knows how good Nando's is. Last Thursday I had what Time Out would describe as an "eating epiphany" by way of an adventure out of the E8 post code to the new shopping extravaganza that is Westfield. Everything in this joint is massive. Everything. But the Nando's there is summat else. According to rumour and hearsay, this is the biggest eaterie they own. You see it from some distance when you're leering past La Senza and got half an eye on the window of Primark. You have to approach the beast via escalator. But the journey through the crowds and shit shops is worth it. You get there and basically immediately cream your pants. I wasn't even hungry but still managed half a bird, the traditional two sides and numerous refills of coke.

When the Nando's staff came over to collect our plates of bones she had to double check that she could take them away. Her explanation? "Some of the customers just like to sit here with the bones for a bit. One woman got really angry when I tried to take them away even though she had finished eating."

Nando's. Props. That's just how good you are. Suck those bones dry...



A feast



A call to arms

Consumption

Scran in all forms has been high on the menu of late. And in all its forms. I've actually made some proper meals. Just like a real person. That's right. It ain't just a bandage to patch up the bits of you which have fallen off the previous evening. There's been some big business going down in the kitchens of E8 and beyond. Believe...



'Autumnal fayre'



Overpriced bog roll



Jerked



Useless little bastard



Israeli-affiliated Scotch eggs - never again



Post-midnight street urchin yummles



A delicious, hot bird



Mumsy's roast



'The Child', aka 'The Barbarian' cooks - and this is what it looks like

The best thing to happen to me all week...

... is getting a retweet from Artwork outta Magnetic Man. And it was about baps. In Gregg's. I can now officially die happy...

Standard Place 1st birthday - Let's dance...

Warehouse parties in the east end of London town are ten a penny. Inboxes, flyers and posters constantly pop up promising today's dancers grimy nights in 'secret warehouse spaces' all propelled by a Funktion One sound system. But many of these forarys fail to deliver on the pre-match hype in terms of space and sonics. As a result, it's become easy to ignore the deluge of bluster and promotional blurb.

The Standard Place 1st birthday bash was a different matter. The venue, in the dingier end of Hackney Downs, was an actual warehouse where you could imagine real men in white coats slaughtering animals during daylight hours. And the Internet anticipation was something else. The promoters had a steady drip of line up revelations in the week leading up to the do, only unveiling the full girth of their aural menu on the actual day of lift off. Benji B, Oneman, Artwork, Jackmaster and Joy Orbison on the same bill is summat not to be sniffed at. So when night descended, we were totally crackling and at the front of a very lubricated pack of ravers wandering around Hackney Downs in search of the party.

Once we found the bash and clambered inside it, the vibe itself was next level. Being keen beans, we were pretty much the first punters up in the place to find Oneman laying down some serious UKG bizness in a dimly lit and metallic space. And as it filled the vibe went from abbatoir to pure bassy chaos. We were all over it, shaking our bits down at the front like a right bunch of fan boys to a fine blend of funky, house, hip hop and garage. Benji B dropped Drake's Headlines which sent our crew into serious spasms, including one team member taking it in turns to projectilve vomit and sleep in the smoking area. Oneman returned and kept the pressure tight But the cheap bar got the better of us and meant we were forced to leave just as Artwork was preparing his wonk for the dance. We walked home, stayed up until dawn and spent much of the next day unconcious in bed. Big night. Big vibes. Standard Place is anything but...