Keep those late summer vibes alive

'Fun times off line' have been very much on the agenda for the '012 - but here's a little snapshot of summer's tail round our ends. As you can see from the images on display, it's been your standard foody tour of all things high and lowwwww...

Morning after the balloon party

Turkish breakfast

Seafood barbecue flex

crazy golf on the roof of Selfridges

Moving day

'Totes' = 'dicks'

Fish Finger butty with crisps

Salmon bagel on a sunny day

Beeeeeer

Chess tings

Welcome to pie town

Tarty warty

Free work lunch

The future of ice cream

Subliminal messaging

DJ business at the tiki party

Freddie Mercury tribute act @the Misty Moon

All killer no filler

Notting Hill

Culinary mastery

Muscle kissing

Work breakfasts smash it every time

The Wedding of the decade

Weddings always honk of good vibrations - and the one we attended back at the fag end of August was no exception. Our buddies Chris and Zen were getting hitched and had requested that myself and regular Homebase customer and one time disco punk Def Stef man the ones, the twos and maybe even the threes to provide the soundtrack. This was earlier in the year, and meant that many of the moments inbetween times had been spent contemplating what to play and where to get that tuneful mother from. I asked the Idjut Boys back in June what one should play at a wedding bash - they suggested it would be a worthwhile notion to play music from adverts. It was a tip I took the liberty of ignoring…

By the time the big day came, we were armed and potentially dangerous - we had records, bow ties (which turned out to be too taxing to put on but the intention, if not the wherewithal, was there) and a Pret breakfast in our clammy paws when we boarded the train. Luck was also on our side as we bagged the best seats in the house right next to the bogs - there was plenty of leg room and enough space for his Defness to sew on a button and get a stain on his delicious looking shirt.

Our day time business ran like the bowels of a man with a runny case of gut rot - somewhat loosely. The train took us into the heart of Norfolk with just enough time to catch our lift and land at the venue (Titchwell Manor - check it here) - then cue an hour of panic - we were faced with wires and wires and stuff that had to go on the end of the wires for sound to come out. Thankfully, Stef is a man who loves wires and accompanying ‘stuff’ and after a slightly sweaty, frantic time we had sound and five minutes to prepare our wardrobes.

The important stuff went beautifully - almost - the bride and groom were successfully unified and we were soon nomming on champagne and slurping on mojito mousse in the palatial gardens of the venue. The drinking and general tomfoolery was also large. Unfortunately we enjoyed ourselves so much that by the time we got to DJ I was seeing a few things over than records. Mainly big, fat pint pots rippling with lager.

Despite us both being a little all over the shop, Stef did a mint job of holding our musical show together and ensuring the wedding party got their collective groove on big time. We played a selection of bangers, had a mild tiff over the suitability of playing Imagination’s Just An Illusion before passing out in our room with the single beds pushed together.

The next day started off groggily but went on to be just as big - albeit in a different way - a bloody mary and tight fry up for breakfast, a stroll on the Norfolk beaches, a cig in the dunes, a spot of sand castle building before a slab of barbecue in the garden of the parents of the groom. Props to the groom’s dad - he barbecued some immaculate meat and even allowed us to play the Kiss the Fist podcast to the selected attendees.   

Nice one again to the bride and groom for letting us play - it was a mint do - and props to everyone we saw and met and drove us around Norfolk with a shitload of records in our paws. We had a right time... 

Road Trip

Nice seats

Sewing flex

The hobs are on mate

It's a groom ting

The set up

Thanks guys

The day after

Bit baked on the beach

Playing the Kiss the Fist podcast at the post-wedding bbq - result!

Edinburgh festival

The Edinburgh Festival is Scotland's annual celebration of all things arty, farty, dramatic, theatrical and supposedly funny. I say 'supposed' as when we went up at the start of August during 'festival frenzy', it felt like many of the chumps we caught plying their wares had left their sense of humour at the door. After boarding an early flight, we were in the Scottish capital by noon and predictably in the pub soon after. The vibe it turns out is that everyone thinks they're a comedian. If you're not on the stage, then you're sitting in the audience hurling insults at strangers. It's quite something to feel the red heckling mist descend and get caught up in a slanging match with some berk on stage. But lager really is a confidence booster in this regard - and we drank an ocean of it over the four days we were there.

The best or possibly worst thing we saw was Keith the Anger Management Koala - not wanting to spoil the surprise but this dude was an irate Australian in a Koala suit with an acoustic guitar strapped to his back. He spent most of his 'set' screaming the word 'cunt' and bashing the living bejesus out of his poor instrument. He has to be seen to be believed. Is it funny? It's difficult to say but you can read his blog here and make up your own minds...

Obligatory airport breakfast pint

lion!

Balls to you

Edinburgh's airport car park - keeping it fresh

Steezey weezy

Edinburgh supper

Haggis and ting

Monkey business

More horse play

Accordians do not make men funny

Hog flex

 

Big tunes a popping

Music is everywhere - there's so fucking much of the stuff to wade through at the moment. If you were to try and drag down everything decent you wouldn't have time to eat/sleep/breath... Here's some of the beauts that have been keeping me up...

The Boiler Room - Sheffield sonics in ya grill

If you're into your bass and bleeps, then you must have heard of the Boiler Room. It's an online stream of DJs playing sets in club-like locations from across the globe with a gargantuan surrounding hype. Why? Well, the line ups are beamed in from the bleeding edge of what's new and left in contemporary dance. The whole endeavour is seen as a barometer of taste by trendies looking to keep abreast of what's going down in future garage town. 

Is it an exciting idea? Do we need to watch DJs playing sets to a camera while some dude intones monotously over the top on a mike? Or is technology and the like getting too big for its digital boots? Love it or loathe it, the Boiler Room vibe has caught on like some sort of computerised fire. Shows are now broadcast from all over the fucking shop. Whether you like it or not, the future is here to stay. Get with the programme gramps.

Those in 'the know' can get invites to attend these bashes in person - and luckily, through our lingering connections with South Yorks, we managed to get on the guestlist to the Sheffield takeover of the affair for the Agitated album launch party. Even better was the actual location, which was just round the corner from our gaff.  We'd tried and failed to attend a session with Jackmaster and Diplo back in the '011. Somehow we'd been fed incorrect intel regarding the venue and ended up banging on the wrong club door for half an hour. Thankfully, a Wetherspoon's wasn't too far away so we spent the eve outside the pub bitching about how shit it probably would have been anyway.

This time round we got the correct venue and were firmly installed inside around the time the broadcast started. Weird as it is watching the thing, it's even weirder standing around at half 8 on a Thursday evening, stone cold sober attempting to get into the bassline the Sheffield contingent brought to the fray. You're all too aware of the watching camera and the internet audience consuming the sets at home.

But, as ever, following a handful of lubricating Red Stripes, we managed to lock the vibe right down - the room where the sets are performed is small enough to throw a handful of cats around in. But even hotter with more added bass - Thankfully, Sheffield crew was on rare form. We had the pleasure of witnessing classy sets from the likes of Pipes, DJ Q, Toddla (ably backed by Shola Ama and Serocee), Walter Ego and last but by no means least, the Forgemasters.

The whole thing was a sweaty, sweaty vibe - Walter Ego looked suitably young. Pipes looked suitably dapper while DJ Q didn't even pause to remove his hoodie or Nike back pack - that's how bass men roll. Toddla played a mish mash of new material and upfront re-rubs before the Forgemasters put down a solid line of housey bleep to take us home. It was a sweaty, electronic embrace of an odd kind of future. Do we really like it? Do we really need it?

Check out Toddla's set here and make up your own mind...

Walter Ego in da mix

Lights, camera, sweat

Forgemasters inside the place

It's a Wirral ting

 

The Paradise Peninsula does exactly what it says on the tin - paradise indeed. I've never seen as many leaves and salubrious vibes as I did when we went up for a weekend pon de 'Squirrel'. I even held a 'clucking' hen. Oh yes - went to the theatre to check some am dram, had a fry up with hen eggs, went to a village fete, had a roast - perhaps the most civilised weekend in living memory... perhaps...

 

Best fry up EVA

Paradise

Hen holding