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...
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
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...
Mcdonald's describe their latest addition to the hangover crew's morning menu as a 'Delicious sausage, bacon, egg, potato rosti and cheese with ketchup or brown sauce'. They weren't wrong about it being delicious. And, according to the Mcdonald's website, it (disappointingly) doesn't contain any sulphur dioxide. Although it could be accused of resembling the inside of a dead, prehistoric reptile which has put some serious hours in slaving away over a deep fat fryer.
If you were to put the majority of the fresh new players in contemporary electronic squelches together in a line up, you’d be hard pressed to distinguish one from the other. Baseball caps, hoods, buttoned up shirt, skinny pantaloons, Vans, attitude - stand to attention.
So props to Glaswegian Hudson Mohawke for doing his bit for the less immaculately turned out - he’s a big fella with lumps and bumps a plenty but somewhere within that frame is an ever burgeoning electronic hero on the brink of exploding. His biggest headline gig to date in the smoke showed just why the great and good of US r’n’b are getting their expensive knickers in a twist over his sonics - and why everyone else should be soggy with anticipation for his new album - the man has skillzzzzz.
After dining extravagantly at the nearby Wetherspoons (the Masque Haunt - the verdict? Great. What else?), and being greeted by an erstwhile blogger at the door looking for a spare ticket (Key ‘modest’ quote; ‘It’s pretty successful’) we entered XOYO’s interiors. And what did we find? Surprisingly, a ginger haired dude ripping up some serious funk on keys and a talk box to about 3 punters, one with a terrible tache doing his best to throw some serious dad-shaped moves. But bibbles aside, Redinho was the name of the man reeling around the stage, and one of the much feted new breed doing his business for the Numbers staple. Numbers has been one of the key platforms to elevate the likes of Hudmo and fellow Scots Rustie and Jackmaster to the big league. And although the talk box may be Redinho’s one trick, it’s definitely one worth keeping your ears peeled for.
Canadian producer and DJ Jacques Greene was up next with a sound closer to the r’n’b proffered by Hudmo - his latest mix for Allez Allez is a good indication of where this 20 year’s old musical head is at - somewhere between the syrupy chart hop of Drake and the heads down tech of Martyn. Although his mixing skills were, in some ways, refreshingly awry, his tune selection was bang on the money and had the now full room moving with him.
So to the finale and Hudmo’s many layered, purple take on all things thunderous and electronic - He's definitely not one for much for visual pea cocking. With the exception of a light show and big screen featuring a raging Incredible Hulk, he spent the gig swaying behind his control panels but his music packs a powerful and seering punch.
Beginning with a swirling take on Bjork’s Crystalline, Hudmo spent the next hour or so conjuring up a bass heavy storm from his numerous knobs and buttons. Imagine a white Timbaland for a new generation which, in both physical shape and sound, the Scot bares more than a little resemblance to. Satin Panthers, the name of his latest EP, is a neat encapsulation of the electronica he’s pushing, it's heavy enough to feel it in your guts but with enough delicacy and decency to rely on more than just brute force. He led us by the hand through a set of mostly new materials before coming to a juddering climax with his first release, the bootleg of Tweet’s Oops. Rustie’s debut record may have just dropped to much acclaim but Hudmo is a few steps ahead. This maverick playa’s got plenty of play left him in. Play on…
'Bang Face Never Dies' - The slogans daubing the walls, t-shirts and signs of the Bang Face Hard Crew are one of the many mind altering joys to revel in when getting down to ravey business at this monstrous celebration of underground electronic dance. ‘You only live twice’, the title of a James Bond film, would be an apt tag line for a Bang Face party. So it was vaguely fitting that the 8th birthday bash for the home to all things ‘neo’, ’rave’ and ‘Armageddon’ coincided with the birthday of James Bond actor and perennial gentlemen rogue, Roger Moore.
Many of the monikers for flicks featuring this secret agent lothario wouldn’t look out of place on the backs of the Hard Crew - ‘Live and Let Die’, ‘A view to a kill’ - I’d pay serious dosh to see this vibe flipped and reversed with Moore starring in a film using a Bang Face slogan - perhaps ‘The only thing I’m fucking tonight are my prospects’.
Anyhoo, Bang Face has come a longgggg way since it’s inception eight years ago in a seedy toilet of a venue in Shoreditch. Although in this case, getting older, does not equate to growing up - leave your pipes and slippers at the door unless they‘re over sized and bright green. Now based around a massive three day weekend blow out at a holiday park in the spring, the 8th birthday business was the night’s return to what many of the BF faithful deem to be its spiritual home at the Electrowerkz in Islington.
The online anticipation for the all night Friday evening showdown was massive- the neon corners of the Internet where the hard crew interact was bowing over with froth - and with good reason. The weekenders have proved to be life affirming affairs - so condensing the three days of madness into one evening was an enticing prospect to hardened dance floor warrior - when we arrived, we were confronted with queues round the block and the rousing clarion call of bass…
The Electrowerkz proved to be a suitable den of inequity for shady rave behaviour - spread over a myriad number of caves, we spent the evening lumbering from room to broom cupboard constantly hit by inflatables, slogans, headgear, balloons and darkness. In the seediest corner of the club, where break core proved to be the soundtrack of choice, cages adorned the wall - one could pretend to be an animal in a zoo - which was a fitting look for the collective state of mind as the night wore on.
Although we clocked numerous players (Dave Skywalker, The Teknoist, Normski, Tango & Ratty to name a few) it was down to Sheffield’s Squires of Gothos to smash the last two hours in the main room - which proved to be sheer carnage. With tops off, top hats on and a stage invasion, the duo battered the stamina crew with high-vis bass music until the place fell in on itself around dawn time. As we left in search of an after party, Normski was skulking outside in the shadows in full Bond villain make up and street cleaners did their best to wipe the rave from the street. Yet again Bang Face failed to disappoint - we came away with more new chums and wrinkles than we had before - it’s an irresistible hard dance extravaganza which can’t help but bring a grin to the chops… Roll on the Christmas party…
