The Wailers / Andreya Triana / Homecut / East Park Reggae Collective / Iration Steppas / Gentlemen’s Dub Club / Broke‘n’£nglish / Kidkanevil / Exodus / Noah
@ Stylus
Aston Barrett, called ‘Family Man’ because of his 52 children, is the man who taught Bob Marley to play the guitar. He played with Bob Marley and the Wailers and also with Lee Perry’s band The Upsetters. As well as writing many of the basslines for Marley’s tracks he was involved in their production and arrangement.
Since Marley’s death in 1981 Barrett has taken on the role of musical director of the Wailers, and it was he who lead the band onto the Stylus stage in April.
The occasion was New Bohemia’s fifth birthday. To celebrate reaching primary school age Leeds’ finest hip hop, dup and broken beat night had laid on quite a spread, the cherry on the cake being the Wailers performing Exodus in its entirety.
Exodus was named the 26th greatest album of all time by VH1 in 2001, 169th of all time by Rolling Stone in 2003 and in 1998 Time magazine crowned it the greatest album of the 20th Century.
As the band took to the stage it was fairly obvious that this wasn’t the original Wailers line up that recorded the album - the drummer looked about 19. Another quite pressing concern was the question of the lead singer. Who would attempt to step into Bob Marley’s Pumas, avoiding the poisoned needles that the CIA had hidden in there?
Our front man for the night was Elan Etias, who, despite dancing a little bit like a five year old - lots of jumping up, down and around, was really quite good. He definitely did the songs justice and held the capacity crowd captive.
So the band worked their way through Exodus, playing extended versions of every song, and the crowd cheered, danced and sang along. The biggest reactions were saved for ‘Exodus’, ‘Waiting In Vain’ and Marley’s ode to brewing tasty preserves, ‘Jamming’.
Supporting the Wailers, who left the stage to well deserved rapturous applause, was a stonking line up of Leeds’ finest purveyors of reggae, dub and hip hop.
Andreya Triana has provided vocals for artists including Mr Scruff, Bonobo and Flying Lotus. Now she’s going it alone, with an album coming out soon. She was on stage before the Wailers performing her own songs, a gorgeous combination of soul, funk and jazz. This lady really does have a beautiful voice. Keep an eye out for the album.
Exodus & Iration Steppas joined the dots between the live acts. They played reggae and dub in their own inimitable ways, and generally kept the crowd on the up.
The apparently ubiquitous Gentlemen’s Dub Club continued their march to the top with a tight set. These guys seem to be playing everywhere in Leeds at the moment, but when it sounds this good, no-one’s complaining.
My personal non-Wailers highlight of the evening was the live set from Kidkanevil. The Leeds-based beatsmith is undoubtedly one of the most exciting hip hop producers in the UK at the moment. His sophomore album Back Off Man, I’m A Scientist was released last year, and he’s already got to work on the follow up. His tight, stark, bassy beats were accompanied by Laura J Martin on flute, and the two of them put on a stonking set. They played at around 11pm, providing a seamless segue from the blissed-out reggae party atmosphere the Wailers had created to a more late night, edgy vibe, setting up the smiling revellers for a long and happy night.
Showing posts with label Review. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Review. Show all posts
Some films
The End (2008)
Nicola Collins' over-long portrait of East End hard men, specifically her Dad and his mates, doesn't manage to shed any real light on its subject. At times it comes across as a constant stream of cliche- we are informed that gangsters like violence, weapons and their families but hate prison, paedos and people that tell on them.
The only genuinely surprising moment comes at around the hour mark when the documentary pulls a massive switcheroo and briefly morphs into a piece of evangelical Christian propaganda. Cue stirring, inspirational music, shots of ducks on a pond and images of hard guys looking wistful while describing how Jesus wants them for a sunbeam.
The Burial (2008)
A mother's last wish is that her body be taken from France to the river in England where her husband died, and so her three estranged sons set off together in a hearse with the coffin loaded in the back.
Handled less skilfully the film could have been either an unimaginative madcap farce or a slushy emotional cheese fest. However, for the most part Boucher and Mills' direction manages to tread a fine line between comedy and tragedy, providing humour without stupidity and emotion without overt manipulation.
Jasmine Women (2004)
Hou Yong's visually striking film tells the generation-spanning story of three women in the same family who seem destined to keep making the same mistakes. Zhang Ziyi, best known for her work on Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, House Of Flying Daggers and Memoirs of a Geisha, is impressive as the young female protagonist of three separate stories set in China in the 1930s, 50s and 80s. Early scenes set in pre-war Shanghai are particularly worthy of mention for their stunning cinematography.
Nicola Collins' over-long portrait of East End hard men, specifically her Dad and his mates, doesn't manage to shed any real light on its subject. At times it comes across as a constant stream of cliche- we are informed that gangsters like violence, weapons and their families but hate prison, paedos and people that tell on them.
The only genuinely surprising moment comes at around the hour mark when the documentary pulls a massive switcheroo and briefly morphs into a piece of evangelical Christian propaganda. Cue stirring, inspirational music, shots of ducks on a pond and images of hard guys looking wistful while describing how Jesus wants them for a sunbeam.
The Burial (2008)
A mother's last wish is that her body be taken from France to the river in England where her husband died, and so her three estranged sons set off together in a hearse with the coffin loaded in the back.
Handled less skilfully the film could have been either an unimaginative madcap farce or a slushy emotional cheese fest. However, for the most part Boucher and Mills' direction manages to tread a fine line between comedy and tragedy, providing humour without stupidity and emotion without overt manipulation.
Jasmine Women (2004)
Hou Yong's visually striking film tells the generation-spanning story of three women in the same family who seem destined to keep making the same mistakes. Zhang Ziyi, best known for her work on Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, House Of Flying Daggers and Memoirs of a Geisha, is impressive as the young female protagonist of three separate stories set in China in the 1930s, 50s and 80s. Early scenes set in pre-war Shanghai are particularly worthy of mention for their stunning cinematography.
Outlander
2008. Cert 15. 115mins. Dir: Howard McCain. Cast: Jim Caviezel, Ron Pearlman, John Hurt, Sophia Myles
2 stars
I expect that at some point in your life you will have had one of those vintage hypothetical conversations about who would beat who in a fight. You know the sort of thing, James Bond v Jack Bauer, a lion v a gorilla, Ashley Cole v Dame Thora Hird, and so on. In Outlander Howard McCain has set out to answer one such question. His chosen battle? Who would win in a fight between some Vikings and an alien monster?
Kainan (Jim Caviezel aka Jesus from The Passion Of The Christ) crashes his spaceship into Norway circa 709 AD. A handy gadget blasts his brain full of the Old Norse language, he swears, vomits and before too long is captured by a posse of Vikings lead by Wulfric (Jack Huston). Cue monster.
Our monster is called a Moorwen and it managed to stow away on Kainan's ship and follow him to earth. On arrival it quickly sets about trying to kill everybody in sight and so two Viking tribes unite with their new space buddy to try and kill the beastie before it destroys everything.
Ron Pearlman, best known for his work on Hellboy, leads one of the tribes. So you've got Jesus, Hellboy and their Viking mates teaming up to fight a big cool monster. There's also John Hurt, lending a touch of gravitas to proceedings and cementing his reputation as the poor man's Sir Ian McKellan. So what's not to like?
Two things in particular. Firstly, the story and characters go way beyond cliché. You've got the wise old king, the rash young warrior, the feisty girl, the brave and noble hero with the tragic past and a drunk Scottish guy. Guess who gets the girl? Secondly, there's the monster itself. For some inexplicable reason the designers came up with the insane idea to light the thing up like a dodgy wedding disco. It's all flashing red and blue LEDs and neon green blood. Very strange.
If the thought of some Vikings fighting a monster from space fills you with child-like glee then this is the film for you. If not, it's probably best avoided.
2 stars
I expect that at some point in your life you will have had one of those vintage hypothetical conversations about who would beat who in a fight. You know the sort of thing, James Bond v Jack Bauer, a lion v a gorilla, Ashley Cole v Dame Thora Hird, and so on. In Outlander Howard McCain has set out to answer one such question. His chosen battle? Who would win in a fight between some Vikings and an alien monster?
Kainan (Jim Caviezel aka Jesus from The Passion Of The Christ) crashes his spaceship into Norway circa 709 AD. A handy gadget blasts his brain full of the Old Norse language, he swears, vomits and before too long is captured by a posse of Vikings lead by Wulfric (Jack Huston). Cue monster.
Our monster is called a Moorwen and it managed to stow away on Kainan's ship and follow him to earth. On arrival it quickly sets about trying to kill everybody in sight and so two Viking tribes unite with their new space buddy to try and kill the beastie before it destroys everything.
Ron Pearlman, best known for his work on Hellboy, leads one of the tribes. So you've got Jesus, Hellboy and their Viking mates teaming up to fight a big cool monster. There's also John Hurt, lending a touch of gravitas to proceedings and cementing his reputation as the poor man's Sir Ian McKellan. So what's not to like?
Two things in particular. Firstly, the story and characters go way beyond cliché. You've got the wise old king, the rash young warrior, the feisty girl, the brave and noble hero with the tragic past and a drunk Scottish guy. Guess who gets the girl? Secondly, there's the monster itself. For some inexplicable reason the designers came up with the insane idea to light the thing up like a dodgy wedding disco. It's all flashing red and blue LEDs and neon green blood. Very strange.
If the thought of some Vikings fighting a monster from space fills you with child-like glee then this is the film for you. If not, it's probably best avoided.
Bad Sneakers 07/01/09
“Every time I look into your eyes I see the future”
The world of science is usually pretty dull. However, in the last few weeks a couple of things happened which are nothing short of fucking awesome.
First up, they found an animal that lives forever.
It’s a type of jellyfish called a Turritopsis Nutricula, and after it reaches sexual maturity it just turns back into a little jellyfish foetus. Basically, it does reincarnation without bothering to die. Pretty cool.
As if that wasn’t good enough, Jurassic Park is going to be very real, very soon. Sort of.
Basically some sciencey chaps cloned an extinct animal from frozen cells. It was a Triceratops and it’s currently roaming the streets of Antananarivo, Madagascar. Not true. Actually it was a Pyrenean Ibex and it died. But still! It’s a good start! It sort of worked! Once they perfect the technology we will all be able to have our very own pet sabre-toothed Tigers.
If dinosaurs went clubbing they would probably go to Bad Sneakers. It’s held every Saturday at the lovely Faversham and it’s put on ‘before they were massive’ gigs by acts including Klaxons, Hot Chip, Lily Allen, The Gossip and the Arctic Monkeys.
Every now and then they take a break from all the guitar-based shenanigans and put on DJs. Last Saturday was one of those nights.
Opening the show were the seemingly ubiquitous house party hell raisers the Heads Up DJs. These three very busy guys seem to be getting booked for everything these days, and very good they are too, playing a very tasteful blend of techy electro.
Our headliner for the night was Surkin, a young whippersnapper from Paris.
A few years ago he released ‘Radio Fireworks’ in the epicentre of the whole ravey sounding French house craze, and the track was as popular as Pokemon. Guys like Erol Alkan, Mylo, Boys Noize and Justice could not get enough of it.
Since then he’s been playing gigs, putting out new tracks and remixing the likes of DJ Mehdi, Chromeo, Foals and more.
So Surkin rocked the packed room with some crunchy electro, dropping a couple of cheeky crowd-pleasers every now and then - stuff like Rikkalicious, the Soulwax mix of Tiga’s Mind Dimension 2 and his own remix of Klaxons.
Youth Attack tidied things up nicely after Surkin had done his thing, playing some quality fidget house and general banging shit. Bit of Fake Blood, bit of Dada Life, bit of Herve - spot on.
So far all very good, but Bad Sneakers had an ace up its sleeve. If the relentless duf-duf-duf of the main room got a bit overpowering, there was room 2, where Jonny Strangeways offered a delightful change of pace.
He played all those songs you love, forget about for a while, then randomly hear and remember why you loved them in the first place. There was some Iggy and the Stooges, a bit of the 5, 6, 7, 8s and my personal highlight of the night, ‘Raspberry Beret’ by Prince. Classic.
Bad Sneakers have some sizably stonking events lined up for the next couple of months. Highlights include Sway on March 5th, Filthy Dukes on March 21st, and the queen of (totally deserved) hype, Little Boots, on March 14th. Get on down to these and you’ll enjoy yourself, promise.
The world of science is usually pretty dull. However, in the last few weeks a couple of things happened which are nothing short of fucking awesome.
First up, they found an animal that lives forever.
It’s a type of jellyfish called a Turritopsis Nutricula, and after it reaches sexual maturity it just turns back into a little jellyfish foetus. Basically, it does reincarnation without bothering to die. Pretty cool.
As if that wasn’t good enough, Jurassic Park is going to be very real, very soon. Sort of.
Basically some sciencey chaps cloned an extinct animal from frozen cells. It was a Triceratops and it’s currently roaming the streets of Antananarivo, Madagascar. Not true. Actually it was a Pyrenean Ibex and it died. But still! It’s a good start! It sort of worked! Once they perfect the technology we will all be able to have our very own pet sabre-toothed Tigers.
If dinosaurs went clubbing they would probably go to Bad Sneakers. It’s held every Saturday at the lovely Faversham and it’s put on ‘before they were massive’ gigs by acts including Klaxons, Hot Chip, Lily Allen, The Gossip and the Arctic Monkeys.
Every now and then they take a break from all the guitar-based shenanigans and put on DJs. Last Saturday was one of those nights.
Opening the show were the seemingly ubiquitous house party hell raisers the Heads Up DJs. These three very busy guys seem to be getting booked for everything these days, and very good they are too, playing a very tasteful blend of techy electro.
Our headliner for the night was Surkin, a young whippersnapper from Paris.
A few years ago he released ‘Radio Fireworks’ in the epicentre of the whole ravey sounding French house craze, and the track was as popular as Pokemon. Guys like Erol Alkan, Mylo, Boys Noize and Justice could not get enough of it.
Since then he’s been playing gigs, putting out new tracks and remixing the likes of DJ Mehdi, Chromeo, Foals and more.
So Surkin rocked the packed room with some crunchy electro, dropping a couple of cheeky crowd-pleasers every now and then - stuff like Rikkalicious, the Soulwax mix of Tiga’s Mind Dimension 2 and his own remix of Klaxons.
Youth Attack tidied things up nicely after Surkin had done his thing, playing some quality fidget house and general banging shit. Bit of Fake Blood, bit of Dada Life, bit of Herve - spot on.
So far all very good, but Bad Sneakers had an ace up its sleeve. If the relentless duf-duf-duf of the main room got a bit overpowering, there was room 2, where Jonny Strangeways offered a delightful change of pace.
He played all those songs you love, forget about for a while, then randomly hear and remember why you loved them in the first place. There was some Iggy and the Stooges, a bit of the 5, 6, 7, 8s and my personal highlight of the night, ‘Raspberry Beret’ by Prince. Classic.
Bad Sneakers have some sizably stonking events lined up for the next couple of months. Highlights include Sway on March 5th, Filthy Dukes on March 21st, and the queen of (totally deserved) hype, Little Boots, on March 14th. Get on down to these and you’ll enjoy yourself, promise.
Insomnia 31/1/09
The Superbowl happened the other day, and the Pittsburgh Steelers beat the Arizona Cardinals. But viewers in Tuscon, Arizona, were treated to an extra special surprise.
Straight after a Cardinals touchdown with less than three minutes to go, the feed was cut out and replaced with something rather different. A very short but really rather moving film of a particularly well endowed young man standing up, pulling down his trousers and shaking his penis about as a disembodied voice explained "You can shake a little air into it". Nice. Makes Janet Jackson look pretty tame.
Anyway, the slightly inappropriately named Insomnia (would you call a sex toy company “Parkinson’s”?) happened the other night. They brought us Eric Prydz, Kissy Sell Out, and a bunch more super sexy DJs.
Eric Prydz stepped up to the decks early on to play us a song or two. An awful lot of people seemed to really like him. Personally I’m not convinced. I think he makes sort of the dance music equivalent of the TV show ‘My Family’, you know what I mean? Kind of watered down, lowest common denominator stuff that everyone sort of doesn’t mind, but no one really loves unless they don’t know any better.
Kissy Sell Out was up next. He’s a guy who really should be crap. He has a stupid Hoxton mullet, he used to be a graphic designer and he seems to be allergic to sleeves. He comes across as the kind of guy who’s all style and no substance and maybe just a bit of an arse.
In fact Kissy Sell Out is awesome and there’s a fairly simple explanation as to why. Firstly, he loves Alan Partridge. So much so that he remixed Gary Numan’s ‘Music For Chameleons’, the Partridge air-bass anthem. That scores him a lot of points.
Last year Kissy released an album, and lately he’s been touring a live show which consists of him dancing around in his PE kit wielding a keytar. Despite these glorious ingredients by all accounts the show was slightly underwhelming. But at Insomnia he returned to what he does best, hopping around like a loon behind the decks and putting on a proper party. It is during his DJ sets that Mr Sell Out proves once and for all that he is unequivocally not crap.
A Kissy Sell Out DJ set is fun. Simple as that. His sets are completely unpretentious and he tears through all sorts of mad tracks making it impossible not to crack a smile. He’s a bit like a more ravey DJ Yoda. Music snobs may turn their noses up and deplore all the silliness (“How dare he play that? Good lord!”), but people that realise going clubbing is really just about having a good time quite rightly love him. Life’s too short for Ricardo Villalobos.
So Mr Sell Out rocked the stage, playing all sorts of mad shit and making sure everyone had a jolly lovely time. Heroic.
In conclusion, call on meeeeeee, Valerie. Good day to you all.
Straight after a Cardinals touchdown with less than three minutes to go, the feed was cut out and replaced with something rather different. A very short but really rather moving film of a particularly well endowed young man standing up, pulling down his trousers and shaking his penis about as a disembodied voice explained "You can shake a little air into it". Nice. Makes Janet Jackson look pretty tame.
Anyway, the slightly inappropriately named Insomnia (would you call a sex toy company “Parkinson’s”?) happened the other night. They brought us Eric Prydz, Kissy Sell Out, and a bunch more super sexy DJs.
Eric Prydz stepped up to the decks early on to play us a song or two. An awful lot of people seemed to really like him. Personally I’m not convinced. I think he makes sort of the dance music equivalent of the TV show ‘My Family’, you know what I mean? Kind of watered down, lowest common denominator stuff that everyone sort of doesn’t mind, but no one really loves unless they don’t know any better.
Kissy Sell Out was up next. He’s a guy who really should be crap. He has a stupid Hoxton mullet, he used to be a graphic designer and he seems to be allergic to sleeves. He comes across as the kind of guy who’s all style and no substance and maybe just a bit of an arse.
In fact Kissy Sell Out is awesome and there’s a fairly simple explanation as to why. Firstly, he loves Alan Partridge. So much so that he remixed Gary Numan’s ‘Music For Chameleons’, the Partridge air-bass anthem. That scores him a lot of points.
Last year Kissy released an album, and lately he’s been touring a live show which consists of him dancing around in his PE kit wielding a keytar. Despite these glorious ingredients by all accounts the show was slightly underwhelming. But at Insomnia he returned to what he does best, hopping around like a loon behind the decks and putting on a proper party. It is during his DJ sets that Mr Sell Out proves once and for all that he is unequivocally not crap.
A Kissy Sell Out DJ set is fun. Simple as that. His sets are completely unpretentious and he tears through all sorts of mad tracks making it impossible not to crack a smile. He’s a bit like a more ravey DJ Yoda. Music snobs may turn their noses up and deplore all the silliness (“How dare he play that? Good lord!”), but people that realise going clubbing is really just about having a good time quite rightly love him. Life’s too short for Ricardo Villalobos.
So Mr Sell Out rocked the stage, playing all sorts of mad shit and making sure everyone had a jolly lovely time. Heroic.
In conclusion, call on meeeeeee, Valerie. Good day to you all.
Little Boots 28/11/08
Leeds University students always win at that game of ‘which famous people went to my uni’. While Cambridge may have Stephen Fry and Bristol have James Blunt (oh what pride) we always have something special in the bag, ready to whip out in case of emergencies. Leeds Medical School’s finest, Dr. Harold Shipman. Booya.
Another Leeds alum is Victoria Hesketh. She got a first in Cultural Studies (is that even a thing?) and wrote her dissertation about Jamie Cullum. Lately she’s been writing music as Little Boots, and came to the Cockpit to play some of it for us on the last night of the Automatic Lovers tour.
Blog darlings and Leeds locals Heads We Dance open the show. They make a lovely disco-synthy-drummy sort of noise that warms the expanding crowd to their collective cockles. These guys are well worth a look, if only so that in 6 or so months time you can act all blasé and say “Oh yeah, I’ve known about those guys for a while. I think I liked them better before they got big.” You will sound like a twat, but it will feel so good.
Co-headliners Heartbreak prefer their disco slightly more italo-flavoured, combining rippling synths, proudly worn 80s inspirations and New Order-esque basslines. As Ali Renault nods intently behind an impressive bank of keyboards, samplers and other assorted technical hillclappery, Argentine front man Sebastian Muravchix flails around like a man possessed, bringing the crowd to the boil nicely and completely freaking out the fairly conspicuous characters in the audience who were only there because they saw Little Boots on Jools Holland.
And so to Little Boots, obviously the act most anticipated by the Cockpit crowd. After parting ways with her old band Dead Disco, she began to carve a solo path, and tented many a pair of skinny jeans with the Joe Goddard (Hot Chip) produced dancey pop peach ‘Stuck On Repeat’. If you haven’t heard the remix of this track by elusive genius Fake Blood, I strongly recommend you change that sharpish. Also worth a look are her acoustic covers of happy hardcore songs on YouTube.
Highlights of her magnificent set are ‘Maths’, ‘Stuck on Repeat’ and a cover of disco innovator Georgio Moroder’s ‘Love Kills’ which features a proper Brian May style solo from Miss Boots on “one of those keyboards you hold like a guitar”.
This disco revival thing looks set to be 2009’s very own new rave. Erol Alkan has already given it his seal of approval, and he doesn’t tend to get things wrong. Expect Primark to come out with a range of sparkly stuff and t-shirts with prints of wolves howling at the moon and whatnot. By this time next year at least one of tonight’s bands will be huge. My money’s on Little Boots, and I reckon ‘Click’ will be her ‘I bet you look good on the dance floor’. Only time will tell…
Another Leeds alum is Victoria Hesketh. She got a first in Cultural Studies (is that even a thing?) and wrote her dissertation about Jamie Cullum. Lately she’s been writing music as Little Boots, and came to the Cockpit to play some of it for us on the last night of the Automatic Lovers tour.
Blog darlings and Leeds locals Heads We Dance open the show. They make a lovely disco-synthy-drummy sort of noise that warms the expanding crowd to their collective cockles. These guys are well worth a look, if only so that in 6 or so months time you can act all blasé and say “Oh yeah, I’ve known about those guys for a while. I think I liked them better before they got big.” You will sound like a twat, but it will feel so good.
Co-headliners Heartbreak prefer their disco slightly more italo-flavoured, combining rippling synths, proudly worn 80s inspirations and New Order-esque basslines. As Ali Renault nods intently behind an impressive bank of keyboards, samplers and other assorted technical hillclappery, Argentine front man Sebastian Muravchix flails around like a man possessed, bringing the crowd to the boil nicely and completely freaking out the fairly conspicuous characters in the audience who were only there because they saw Little Boots on Jools Holland.
And so to Little Boots, obviously the act most anticipated by the Cockpit crowd. After parting ways with her old band Dead Disco, she began to carve a solo path, and tented many a pair of skinny jeans with the Joe Goddard (Hot Chip) produced dancey pop peach ‘Stuck On Repeat’. If you haven’t heard the remix of this track by elusive genius Fake Blood, I strongly recommend you change that sharpish. Also worth a look are her acoustic covers of happy hardcore songs on YouTube.
Highlights of her magnificent set are ‘Maths’, ‘Stuck on Repeat’ and a cover of disco innovator Georgio Moroder’s ‘Love Kills’ which features a proper Brian May style solo from Miss Boots on “one of those keyboards you hold like a guitar”.
This disco revival thing looks set to be 2009’s very own new rave. Erol Alkan has already given it his seal of approval, and he doesn’t tend to get things wrong. Expect Primark to come out with a range of sparkly stuff and t-shirts with prints of wolves howling at the moon and whatnot. By this time next year at least one of tonight’s bands will be huge. My money’s on Little Boots, and I reckon ‘Click’ will be her ‘I bet you look good on the dance floor’. Only time will tell…
Wax:On Leeds 24/1/09
Remember how Steven Gerrard is a big thug who got arrested after beating up a guy up in a club? The guy he beat up is called Marcus McGee (nice alliterative name) and he’s a DJ.
This disappointed Steven and his chums, so they decided to make their feelings felt through the medium of dance. And punching.
I would happily kill a stranger if it meant I never had to hear ‘Take A Bow’ by Rihanna again. I would maim a passer-by if the master tapes of Peter Kay’s version of ‘Amarillo’ would be destroyed and I would even go so far as to give a vicious Chinese burn to an acquaintance to ensure that all past and future recordings by Usher would never again rape my poor sobbing external acoustic meatus (one for all you doctors out there).
Anyways, Wax:On happened last week and as far as I know none of the DJs were beaten up by professional footballers. The Waxy crew played a strong team with Mylo and Sinden up front, Matt Walsh storming up and down the wing and Doorly in the holding position.
Despite the team being strong on paper there are no easy games in this competition and it was all to play for. At the end of the day the boys literally have to pull it out of the hat and give 110% week in week out and that’s a big ask. Obviously it’s always hard to come here and get a result, y’know?
So Mylo. You’d be surprised, for a big lad he’s good with his feet. When he came on it was still early doors but all eyes were on him. Probably because everyone’s getting a bit sick of waiting for him to release a new album. Allegedly he’s working on it, but I reckon he’s probably quite happy getting paid loads of money for fairly uninspiring DJ sets.
Sinden is an absolute hero. Definitely the man of the match. He stepped up after Mylo and played a glorious mix of fidget, dubstep, electro and all sorts that left the Wax:On crowd all weak at the knees like Stan Collymore in a busy carpark. He did a Fabriclive mix CD recently which you should definitely get as it’s awesome. Also, if you haven’t already, you should get your hands on the Machines Don’t Care album. It came out last year and it was a collaborative effort between Sinden, Hervé, Trevor Loveys, Affie Yusef, Toddla T, Fake Blood, Detboi & Drop The Lime. Unsurprisingly, given that dream team, it was one of the strongest records of the last twelve months.
After Sinden had done his magic, Doorly stepped up to the plate and sent everyone home with a smile on their face. He’s good isn’t he? Vintage summer signing from the Wax:On bosses.
One more thing though. I just saw the line up for the next Wax:On on 28th February and it made me do a little bit of wee in my pants. Yes. Headlining will be the incredible Hervé, who about 9 people witnessed tearing Bad Robot a new one back in October (tickets were £5 but no one went. Whoops). Also playing are Fake Blood, Jack Beats, DIM and Beardyman. Wow. I’m already quite excited about this one.
The fight started after Marcus was left in charge of a card thing while the regular DJ took a break. In the inimitable words of the Sun: “Marcus was left in charge of a card which allowed the music to be changed - and Gerrard is said to have asked for a different tune. But he refused to hand over the card, saying he could not alter the music policy.”
This disappointed Steven and his chums, so they decided to make their feelings felt through the medium of dance. And punching.
.
But ignoring the fact that the DJs job seemed to simply be looking after a magical card which controlled the music, what I really want to know is what song the guy was playing. Which song was it that so enraged Stevie G that he had to resort to letting his fists do the talking, potentially destroying the career he has worked so hard for in the process?
I would happily kill a stranger if it meant I never had to hear ‘Take A Bow’ by Rihanna again. I would maim a passer-by if the master tapes of Peter Kay’s version of ‘Amarillo’ would be destroyed and I would even go so far as to give a vicious Chinese burn to an acquaintance to ensure that all past and future recordings by Usher would never again rape my poor sobbing external acoustic meatus (one for all you doctors out there).
Anyways, Wax:On happened last week and as far as I know none of the DJs were beaten up by professional footballers. The Waxy crew played a strong team with Mylo and Sinden up front, Matt Walsh storming up and down the wing and Doorly in the holding position.
Despite the team being strong on paper there are no easy games in this competition and it was all to play for. At the end of the day the boys literally have to pull it out of the hat and give 110% week in week out and that’s a big ask. Obviously it’s always hard to come here and get a result, y’know?
So Mylo. You’d be surprised, for a big lad he’s good with his feet. When he came on it was still early doors but all eyes were on him. Probably because everyone’s getting a bit sick of waiting for him to release a new album. Allegedly he’s working on it, but I reckon he’s probably quite happy getting paid loads of money for fairly uninspiring DJ sets.
Sinden is an absolute hero. Definitely the man of the match. He stepped up after Mylo and played a glorious mix of fidget, dubstep, electro and all sorts that left the Wax:On crowd all weak at the knees like Stan Collymore in a busy carpark. He did a Fabriclive mix CD recently which you should definitely get as it’s awesome. Also, if you haven’t already, you should get your hands on the Machines Don’t Care album. It came out last year and it was a collaborative effort between Sinden, Hervé, Trevor Loveys, Affie Yusef, Toddla T, Fake Blood, Detboi & Drop The Lime. Unsurprisingly, given that dream team, it was one of the strongest records of the last twelve months.
After Sinden had done his magic, Doorly stepped up to the plate and sent everyone home with a smile on their face. He’s good isn’t he? Vintage summer signing from the Wax:On bosses.
One more thing though. I just saw the line up for the next Wax:On on 28th February and it made me do a little bit of wee in my pants. Yes. Headlining will be the incredible Hervé, who about 9 people witnessed tearing Bad Robot a new one back in October (tickets were £5 but no one went. Whoops). Also playing are Fake Blood, Jack Beats, DIM and Beardyman. Wow. I’m already quite excited about this one.
Zane Lowe Home Taping Tour 20/11/08
The BNP membership list was leaked a little while ago, and despite being fairly dull overall, with not one premiership footballer or archbishop signed up, there was one name which caught my attention. My name.
Nestled snugly amongst the Nazis and mentally incapacitated simpletons was a Mr John Horner.
That was rather freaky. Luckily this impostor lives far away, in Glasgow, and I’m pretty sure we aren’t actually related. I’m currently considering suing him for defamation.
Here’s a fun fact for everyone. You know Mark Collett, the BNP guy who was charged, alongside the charming Nick Griffin, with inciting racial hatred a little while ago? He went to Leeds Uni. He got a 2.2 in economics. I hope your bosom is swollen with pride, mine certainly is.
Russell Brand made a program about him a few years ago, an episode of his show Re:Brand called ‘Nazi boy’. This was back in the days when Brand made a habit of taking industrial quantities of heroin (I’m not sure exactly which industries require heroin), dressing like he’s on his way to a boy band audition, and making good TV. In the Re:Brand episode ‘Wanky wanky’ he tugs off a stranger in a pub toilet, with hilarious consequences!
At the time Collett was the head of the Young BNP (hereafter referred to as the Hitler Youth). He revealed himself to be quite the arsehole, bringing out the classy phrase ‘Aids monkeys’ and almost crying after two nice chaps at in the Original Oak suggested it might not be the best idea to be completely racist. He’s also, adorably, a fairly blatant closeted gayer.
The BNP don’t quite know what to think about Zane Lowe. On the one hand he is lovely and white, and they’re all for that. But on the other hand, he’s a foreigner (or “UNCLEAN!!!!!” as I believe they’re referred to within the party) from New Zealand, the land of sheep and rings. Also, his radio show often features uppity negroes, joyous homosexuals and assorted other people who aren’t quite the same as everyone else. This just won’t do.
For me, Zane has acted a bit like a gateway drug. Back when I was a poor unfortunate A level doing fool I listened to his show most nights while I was supposed to be working. During those heady evenings I was introduced to countless artists I’ve grown to love, and only a few I pretend I was never into. DJ Format, Gogol Bordello, the Arctic Monkeys, Pendulum, Gnarls Barkley and so many more. I was presented with new and exciting genres of music which filled my head with glorious confusion and my dancing feet with animalistic joy. Like a toddler enjoying his first delicious puff of marijuana I wanted more. Since then I have slipped into a blissfully sedated coma of good music, from which I hope to never be roused.
The Zipper was Djing in Amnesia in Ibiza a while ago and Kate Moss was in the crowd. Croydon’s finest decided it would be a glorious demonstration of the fragility of human nature and the ultimate futility of the pursuit of celebrity (or she just wanted some attention or something) if she was to go and dance in the DJ booth with Zane. Hilariously, Zane was having none of it and had security chuck her out.
It was probably for her own good. A Zane Lowe DJ set is a constant blur of activity, like a 10 year old who’s had one too many blue Smarties. He tore around his two CD decks, one DVD deck and mission control size mixer with wild abandon, barely pausing during his set. His set was exactly what you’d expect if you’ve ever heard his show or seen him on TV - music from across all genres with a uniting theme of ‘you can dance to it’ mixed and scratched (yes, scratched!) faster than a really fast thing being chased down a steep hill by something equally fast (and scary).
In conclusion, very good job Zane. One gold star.
Nestled snugly amongst the Nazis and mentally incapacitated simpletons was a Mr John Horner.
That was rather freaky. Luckily this impostor lives far away, in Glasgow, and I’m pretty sure we aren’t actually related. I’m currently considering suing him for defamation.
Here’s a fun fact for everyone. You know Mark Collett, the BNP guy who was charged, alongside the charming Nick Griffin, with inciting racial hatred a little while ago? He went to Leeds Uni. He got a 2.2 in economics. I hope your bosom is swollen with pride, mine certainly is.
Russell Brand made a program about him a few years ago, an episode of his show Re:Brand called ‘Nazi boy’. This was back in the days when Brand made a habit of taking industrial quantities of heroin (I’m not sure exactly which industries require heroin), dressing like he’s on his way to a boy band audition, and making good TV. In the Re:Brand episode ‘Wanky wanky’ he tugs off a stranger in a pub toilet, with hilarious consequences!
At the time Collett was the head of the Young BNP (hereafter referred to as the Hitler Youth). He revealed himself to be quite the arsehole, bringing out the classy phrase ‘Aids monkeys’ and almost crying after two nice chaps at in the Original Oak suggested it might not be the best idea to be completely racist. He’s also, adorably, a fairly blatant closeted gayer.
The BNP don’t quite know what to think about Zane Lowe. On the one hand he is lovely and white, and they’re all for that. But on the other hand, he’s a foreigner (or “UNCLEAN!!!!!” as I believe they’re referred to within the party) from New Zealand, the land of sheep and rings. Also, his radio show often features uppity negroes, joyous homosexuals and assorted other people who aren’t quite the same as everyone else. This just won’t do.
For me, Zane has acted a bit like a gateway drug. Back when I was a poor unfortunate A level doing fool I listened to his show most nights while I was supposed to be working. During those heady evenings I was introduced to countless artists I’ve grown to love, and only a few I pretend I was never into. DJ Format, Gogol Bordello, the Arctic Monkeys, Pendulum, Gnarls Barkley and so many more. I was presented with new and exciting genres of music which filled my head with glorious confusion and my dancing feet with animalistic joy. Like a toddler enjoying his first delicious puff of marijuana I wanted more. Since then I have slipped into a blissfully sedated coma of good music, from which I hope to never be roused.
The Zipper was Djing in Amnesia in Ibiza a while ago and Kate Moss was in the crowd. Croydon’s finest decided it would be a glorious demonstration of the fragility of human nature and the ultimate futility of the pursuit of celebrity (or she just wanted some attention or something) if she was to go and dance in the DJ booth with Zane. Hilariously, Zane was having none of it and had security chuck her out.
It was probably for her own good. A Zane Lowe DJ set is a constant blur of activity, like a 10 year old who’s had one too many blue Smarties. He tore around his two CD decks, one DVD deck and mission control size mixer with wild abandon, barely pausing during his set. His set was exactly what you’d expect if you’ve ever heard his show or seen him on TV - music from across all genres with a uniting theme of ‘you can dance to it’ mixed and scratched (yes, scratched!) faster than a really fast thing being chased down a steep hill by something equally fast (and scary).
In conclusion, very good job Zane. One gold star.
A Mystic Brew with Recloose 8/11/08
The world seems to have gone a bit mad lately. First a few silly boys spoiled capitalism for everyone and now priests have taken to kicking the shit out of each other at the place Jesus got crucified. Less of a surprise is the revelation that the Queen Mother was a massive racist. She decided that Europe as a concept would never catch on. In her words “It will never work with all those Huns, wops and dagos.” Such effortless class.
The reason for all this madness is fairly obvious, and predictably it came from the good old U S of motherfuckin’ A. A little while ago Fox had a show called ‘Gimme My Reality Show’. It featured Cindy Brady, an American Idol loser and that lady with the boobs who was on Baywatch and Celebrity Big Brother. It is a reality show where the big prize is ... A reality show. As a result of this program existing the world began to consume itself. Essentially this show crossed the streams, but instead of getting rid of the scary giant marshmallow guy, everything just started going horribly wrong.
Anyways, I have a theory, and it’s conspiracy flavoured. I reckon the whole Obama thing is a big plot by white supremacists to make sure there’s a black guy at the wheel when the world slams into the thirteenth pillar in that tunnel in Paris. Think of him as a sort of political Henri Paul. So when the world does inevitably implode, all these smug racists will be saying ‘See? We told you they couldn’t be trusted, but you wanted emancipation. WELL NOW LOOK WHAT ONE OF THEM’S DONE. I hope you’re happy.’ And the Queen Mother was right all along.
Before the world goes completely I Am Legend on us, I strongly recommend you go to Mystic Brew. I went the other day and had a lovely time. Like the witches from Macbeth, every month three of Leeds’ most magical parties combine to brew up a vicious broth which they ladle out to an unsuspecting public. New Bohemia, Asylum and Hang The DJ unite in their pursuit of a shenanigan or two and, above all, a jolly good shindig.
They’ve managed to get their hands on a perfect venue as well. All secretive and out of the way, upstairs in Smokestack is like a tree house, if Jim Morrison was a tree house designer. It’s quite small and long and has a bar where you can buy ‘Mystic brew’. Downstairs is worth a peek at some point, they’ve got classic records stuck on the wall and nice sofas. Also, it was a Saturday night in Leeds city centre, yet there was not one drunken yob who wanted to kill everyone.
So the pedigree residents brought things to the boil before standing back to let the head chef work is magic. Tonight’s gastronome was Matthew Chicoine, better known as Recloose, a Detroit native who somehow found his way to New Zealand, where the natives took to him like the British public take to the mediocre turds squeezed out by Simon Cowell et al. His latest album ‘Perfect Timing’ was the best electronica/dance album at the 2008 New Zealand Music Awards.
He and the residents played the sort of music that you didn’t know was an option - if you knew this music existed, you’d have it and it would be your favourite. Think soul, funk, house, hip hop and more wrapped in tasty disco pastry.
“When shall we three meet again, in thunder lightning or rain?” “When the hurly-burly’s done and the battle’s lost and won” “That will be ere the set of sun”. Or more specifically, in December, when the Mystic Brew will be mixed up once more. You should go. You’d like it.
The reason for all this madness is fairly obvious, and predictably it came from the good old U S of motherfuckin’ A. A little while ago Fox had a show called ‘Gimme My Reality Show’. It featured Cindy Brady, an American Idol loser and that lady with the boobs who was on Baywatch and Celebrity Big Brother. It is a reality show where the big prize is ... A reality show. As a result of this program existing the world began to consume itself. Essentially this show crossed the streams, but instead of getting rid of the scary giant marshmallow guy, everything just started going horribly wrong.
Anyways, I have a theory, and it’s conspiracy flavoured. I reckon the whole Obama thing is a big plot by white supremacists to make sure there’s a black guy at the wheel when the world slams into the thirteenth pillar in that tunnel in Paris. Think of him as a sort of political Henri Paul. So when the world does inevitably implode, all these smug racists will be saying ‘See? We told you they couldn’t be trusted, but you wanted emancipation. WELL NOW LOOK WHAT ONE OF THEM’S DONE. I hope you’re happy.’ And the Queen Mother was right all along.
Before the world goes completely I Am Legend on us, I strongly recommend you go to Mystic Brew. I went the other day and had a lovely time. Like the witches from Macbeth, every month three of Leeds’ most magical parties combine to brew up a vicious broth which they ladle out to an unsuspecting public. New Bohemia, Asylum and Hang The DJ unite in their pursuit of a shenanigan or two and, above all, a jolly good shindig.
They’ve managed to get their hands on a perfect venue as well. All secretive and out of the way, upstairs in Smokestack is like a tree house, if Jim Morrison was a tree house designer. It’s quite small and long and has a bar where you can buy ‘Mystic brew’. Downstairs is worth a peek at some point, they’ve got classic records stuck on the wall and nice sofas. Also, it was a Saturday night in Leeds city centre, yet there was not one drunken yob who wanted to kill everyone.
So the pedigree residents brought things to the boil before standing back to let the head chef work is magic. Tonight’s gastronome was Matthew Chicoine, better known as Recloose, a Detroit native who somehow found his way to New Zealand, where the natives took to him like the British public take to the mediocre turds squeezed out by Simon Cowell et al. His latest album ‘Perfect Timing’ was the best electronica/dance album at the 2008 New Zealand Music Awards.
He and the residents played the sort of music that you didn’t know was an option - if you knew this music existed, you’d have it and it would be your favourite. Think soul, funk, house, hip hop and more wrapped in tasty disco pastry.
“When shall we three meet again, in thunder lightning or rain?” “When the hurly-burly’s done and the battle’s lost and won” “That will be ere the set of sun”. Or more specifically, in December, when the Mystic Brew will be mixed up once more. You should go. You’d like it.
S Club in Leeds 3/11/08
“I'm feeling so erratic. You're holding me down, I'm set to automatic, so loud”
While this may sound like the thought process of a sex attack victim, it is in fact a line from Gangsta Love, a song by S Club 7, the latest nineties pop pricks to lash themselves to the underside of the reunion bandwagon. But only three of them. The rest have better things to do. The unholy trinity are currently on a tour which began in Oldham at the Tokyo Nightclub and which will end in the Shangri-la that is Butlins, Bognor Regis.
They were brought to Leeds by the easily pleased eejits behind Happy Mondays, the wacky guys responsible for recent “performances” by the Venga Boys, Max and OB from Hollyoaks and the most desperate one out of 5ive.
So what of the syphilitic curs who thought themselves above the triumphant return to the mainstream? What the hell do they think they’re playing at? Rachel Stevens is quite fit and she did make poverty history so we’ll let her off, but what of the other scumbags? What’s their excuse?
Hannah (Emma Bunton’s special needs sister) was in ‘Snow! The Musical’. One show managed to pull in an audience of two people. Apparently she’s doing acting now. Tina (the other fit one) shagged Ross from Friends and Jon (Nazi wank fantasy) couldn’t even manage that.
But enough of the fools who spat in the face of this bejewelled opportunity. What of the chosen few, those gods among men, who made it to the Happy Mondays stage? What obstacles did they overcome on the long and arduous path to their glorious comeback?
Bradley (token black guy) first had to overcome the obstacle of having no discernable talent. Then he did that MTV show with Dane Bowers, a New Kid on the Block and one of the pikeys from 911, culminating in a number 35 single. Fine work. Since then he seems to have spent most of his time in the gym (possibly with Craig David. The two may well be lovers).
Jo (the man-faced one who did all the singing) had a bit of a go at a solo career. Her album Relentless (released by Sanctuary records, home of Megadeth) peaked at number 47 in the hit parade. Then she went on Celebrity Big Brother. Whoops.
I personally do not believe words can ever fully do justice to this colossally important time in the history of the world. It would be as futile as attempting to explain what it felt like when Diana died to Shamu the whale using only wax crayons and a small pot of Vaseline.
However, if anyone can linguistically convey the complex feelings of a nation, it is Isabel from Buckinghamshire, surely one of the finest minds of our generation.
“I cannot believe the arrogance shown by Jo. I am not keen on Jade, but hold my hat out to her for at least admitting she was wrong and apologising which cannot be said for this lady. Jo and Danielle said the worse comments whilst in the house, they should have tried to stop Jade while she was arguing with Shilpa, instead they seemed to enjoy the spectacle, giggling like little schoolgirls.”
How incredibly perspicacious. I too put my hat out to Jade and entirely agree that if anyone deserves punishing, it is little schoolgirls.
Little did Simon Fuller know when he assembled the mighty Club that he had clasped a viper to his bosom. That viper was a man. A man with the dark and brooding soul of a truly visionary artist. A man who would let his heart decide. Paul Cattermole.
It was Paul who snatched the 7 from S Club when he announced his decision to return to his “rock roots” in 2002. His artistic integrity was compromised by the Club and he returned to his band Skua (such delightful wordplay) to fulfil his vision and make the music he had always held deep within his very essence, music with “a Limp Bizkit vibe”.
Alas there was more hardship for our troubled hero to endure. Skua came to nothing and Paul was left to fester in an existential chrysalis, before erupting triumphantly as the lead singer and songwriter of Charlie Bullitt. Sadly, no one cared, and Paul soon left the group.
Since then he has been working on solo material. His EP You Make Me Happy (so simple yet so profound) contains the kind of songs Busted would reject for being “a fetid heap of the worst kind of shite”.
S Club are truly back on top. The show was a triumph. A glorious fusion of music, lyrics, dance and Bradley occasionally saying “uh huh yeah”, for that is what black people do.
But what of the audience, those privileged few who will one day tell their grandchildren of this momentous evening?
Stylus was full to the brim with excited morons, the sort of people who write ‘lol’, who will leave a room if a song they don’t know is playing and who are petrified by any trace of idiosyncrasy. These are people who go to clubs then spend more time taking photos to prove how fun they are and what a great time they had than they do actually experiencing anything.
People who can barely function in a social setting without being good and drunk, lest anyone notice the gaping chasm they have in place of a personality.
People who think ‘celebrity’ is a valid and worthwhile aspiration.
People who go to 90s and cheese nights swaddled in the protective cloak of irony, when in fact they can barely mask their terror at having to face life after childhood.
People who may as well just crawl back into the womb and vanish, for no one that bland can ever be truly missed.
This is the face of the lowest common denominator, where the stench of mediocrity can at times be overwhelming.
OMG I’m totally kidding you guys! ROFL! It was awesomeness! xoxo
While this may sound like the thought process of a sex attack victim, it is in fact a line from Gangsta Love, a song by S Club 7, the latest nineties pop pricks to lash themselves to the underside of the reunion bandwagon. But only three of them. The rest have better things to do. The unholy trinity are currently on a tour which began in Oldham at the Tokyo Nightclub and which will end in the Shangri-la that is Butlins, Bognor Regis.
They were brought to Leeds by the easily pleased eejits behind Happy Mondays, the wacky guys responsible for recent “performances” by the Venga Boys, Max and OB from Hollyoaks and the most desperate one out of 5ive.
So what of the syphilitic curs who thought themselves above the triumphant return to the mainstream? What the hell do they think they’re playing at? Rachel Stevens is quite fit and she did make poverty history so we’ll let her off, but what of the other scumbags? What’s their excuse?
Hannah (Emma Bunton’s special needs sister) was in ‘Snow! The Musical’. One show managed to pull in an audience of two people. Apparently she’s doing acting now. Tina (the other fit one) shagged Ross from Friends and Jon (Nazi wank fantasy) couldn’t even manage that.
But enough of the fools who spat in the face of this bejewelled opportunity. What of the chosen few, those gods among men, who made it to the Happy Mondays stage? What obstacles did they overcome on the long and arduous path to their glorious comeback?
Bradley (token black guy) first had to overcome the obstacle of having no discernable talent. Then he did that MTV show with Dane Bowers, a New Kid on the Block and one of the pikeys from 911, culminating in a number 35 single. Fine work. Since then he seems to have spent most of his time in the gym (possibly with Craig David. The two may well be lovers).
Jo (the man-faced one who did all the singing) had a bit of a go at a solo career. Her album Relentless (released by Sanctuary records, home of Megadeth) peaked at number 47 in the hit parade. Then she went on Celebrity Big Brother. Whoops.
I personally do not believe words can ever fully do justice to this colossally important time in the history of the world. It would be as futile as attempting to explain what it felt like when Diana died to Shamu the whale using only wax crayons and a small pot of Vaseline.
However, if anyone can linguistically convey the complex feelings of a nation, it is Isabel from Buckinghamshire, surely one of the finest minds of our generation.
“I cannot believe the arrogance shown by Jo. I am not keen on Jade, but hold my hat out to her for at least admitting she was wrong and apologising which cannot be said for this lady. Jo and Danielle said the worse comments whilst in the house, they should have tried to stop Jade while she was arguing with Shilpa, instead they seemed to enjoy the spectacle, giggling like little schoolgirls.”
How incredibly perspicacious. I too put my hat out to Jade and entirely agree that if anyone deserves punishing, it is little schoolgirls.
Little did Simon Fuller know when he assembled the mighty Club that he had clasped a viper to his bosom. That viper was a man. A man with the dark and brooding soul of a truly visionary artist. A man who would let his heart decide. Paul Cattermole.
It was Paul who snatched the 7 from S Club when he announced his decision to return to his “rock roots” in 2002. His artistic integrity was compromised by the Club and he returned to his band Skua (such delightful wordplay) to fulfil his vision and make the music he had always held deep within his very essence, music with “a Limp Bizkit vibe”.
Alas there was more hardship for our troubled hero to endure. Skua came to nothing and Paul was left to fester in an existential chrysalis, before erupting triumphantly as the lead singer and songwriter of Charlie Bullitt. Sadly, no one cared, and Paul soon left the group.
Since then he has been working on solo material. His EP You Make Me Happy (so simple yet so profound) contains the kind of songs Busted would reject for being “a fetid heap of the worst kind of shite”.
S Club are truly back on top. The show was a triumph. A glorious fusion of music, lyrics, dance and Bradley occasionally saying “uh huh yeah”, for that is what black people do.
But what of the audience, those privileged few who will one day tell their grandchildren of this momentous evening?
Stylus was full to the brim with excited morons, the sort of people who write ‘lol’, who will leave a room if a song they don’t know is playing and who are petrified by any trace of idiosyncrasy. These are people who go to clubs then spend more time taking photos to prove how fun they are and what a great time they had than they do actually experiencing anything.
People who can barely function in a social setting without being good and drunk, lest anyone notice the gaping chasm they have in place of a personality.
People who think ‘celebrity’ is a valid and worthwhile aspiration.
People who go to 90s and cheese nights swaddled in the protective cloak of irony, when in fact they can barely mask their terror at having to face life after childhood.
People who may as well just crawl back into the womb and vanish, for no one that bland can ever be truly missed.
This is the face of the lowest common denominator, where the stench of mediocrity can at times be overwhelming.
OMG I’m totally kidding you guys! ROFL! It was awesomeness! xoxo
New Bohemia with Kidkanevil 31/10/08
“The power of Christ compels you”
Once upon a time there was a young girl called Georgina Bailie. One night while she was sleeping she was visited by the ghost of Adolf Hitler. He greeted her and told her “Behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son” “How shall this be, seeing I know not a man?” replied young Georgina, and she and Adolf laughed heartily.
Georgina travelled far from her home, to Donnington, for the Download festival was in town. And lo! She gave birth in the mosh pit while Black Sabbath were playing. And Ozzy looked, and he saw that it was good.
She named the child Satan, as Adolf had instructed her. This precious child would grow up to be the devil. And that is the story of the first Halloween.
Instead they brought us the lovely Mr. Kidkanevil, with his shiny new live show. Kidkanevil is a local boy, straight out of Tokyorkshire and he makes the sort of bouncy instrumental hip hop you get from guys like DJ Shadow, RJD2 and Bonobo. In many ways he’s a bit of a maverick. He doesn't play by the rules, but dammit he gets results.
Kidkanevil really is very good live, and both albums are well worth a listen. New Bohemia is also ace, much better than Hitler.
Once upon a time there was a young girl called Georgina Bailie. One night while she was sleeping she was visited by the ghost of Adolf Hitler. He greeted her and told her “Behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son” “How shall this be, seeing I know not a man?” replied young Georgina, and she and Adolf laughed heartily.
Georgina travelled far from her home, to Donnington, for the Download festival was in town. And lo! She gave birth in the mosh pit while Black Sabbath were playing. And Ozzy looked, and he saw that it was good.
She named the child Satan, as Adolf had instructed her. This precious child would grow up to be the devil. And that is the story of the first Halloween.
New Bohemia is a bit too cool (or lazy) to care much about Halloween. No cheesy flyers with blood dripping down them, no booking DJs just because they have spooky names and no lame costume competitions (if there was one, the winner would have been the guy dressed as a golden shower).
Instead they brought us the lovely Mr. Kidkanevil, with his shiny new live show. Kidkanevil is a local boy, straight out of Tokyorkshire and he makes the sort of bouncy instrumental hip hop you get from guys like DJ Shadow, RJD2 and Bonobo. In many ways he’s a bit of a maverick. He doesn't play by the rules, but dammit he gets results.
It’s always good when someone makes the effort to do a proper live show, rather than just hiding behind a laptop or sampler. The Kidkanevil band included the very fragrant Laura J on yazz flute, Justin Percival and Testament on the mic and a guy who looks like Huey Morgan from the Fun Loving Criminals who’s in a band I saw at HiFi the other week was on percussion (he did a bit of saxophone on one song too). During Black Bug the band were joined onstage by an extra special performer, the hobo Optimus Prime from the video (http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=bcZvMnNSwfg).
Actually, New Bohemia did offer a cursory nod towards the anniversary of the birth of Satan. There was a very half-assed ‘mad scientist’ theme, in honour of Kidkanevil’s new album Back Off Man, I’m A Scientist. It has collaborations with Taprikk Sweezee and Bonobo on it. It’s very good and you can buy it if you want. Also, you can get his ace debut album, Problems and Solutions, for free from myspace.com/kidkanevil. This one has collaborations with Yarah Bravo, Jeh5t, Lateef the truth speaker, and Andreya Triana.
Kidkanevil really is very good live, and both albums are well worth a listen. New Bohemia is also ace, much better than Hitler.
Wax:On Leeds 25/10/0
"Big Beats are the best, get high all the time"
- The Big Beat Manifesto
The man who would become Fatboy Slim was born Quentin Leo Cook on July 1963. Now Quentin is obviously a very dorky name, so the big beat pioneer did the obvious thing and changed it. To Norman. Whoops.
Wax:On appears to have recovered from its brief flirtation with skinny jeans, Mission and Sundays. It sidled back into the forgiving embrace of the union like a guilty husband who had a bit too much fun on a business trip. In the place of empty promises and supermarket flowers it attempted to appease poor Stylus with a Halloween fancy dress special. And jolly good it was too. It was very cute that many of the acts on the line up seemed to have been booked because they have vaguely Halloweeny names (Disco Bloodbath, Fake Blood, the Bloody Beetroots), but they missed a trick by not getting Skream involved.
The heavily hyped Japanese Popstars are an elusive bunch. So elusive in fact, that they completely failed to show up. The Plump DJs and the Bloody Beetroots were the big headliners in the main room, and performed admirably, but for many the main draw of the night was to be found lower down the bill and tucked away in room 2.
The no show by the Jappy Pops (as they're apparently known in Derry) lead many to abandon Stylus in favour of Mine, and we were welcomed with open arms by Wax:On's newest superstar resident DJ, Mr Martin Doorly esq. He’s a guy who really knows what he’s doing. You’d be happily dancing along and then all of a sudden he’d nonchalantly slip in something like ‘Breathe’ by The Prodigy, that Caspa mix of ’Where’s My Money’ or ‘Never Be Alone’ as if it’s no big thing. And obviously it is. Predictably, everyone lost their minds. Magnificent.
How good is Mine by the way? The answer? Very very good. I love it in there! It's all cool and tunnel shaped and there are nice sofas if you want a little rest. Perfect.
When the first Fake Blood remixes started to surface on them internets about a year ago they got a lot of knickers very twisted. Not only were the tracks all unbelievably strong, but this Mr. Blood chap was keeping his identity a closely guarded secret. Word got out that it was a side project by an established act, rather than just some guy (like Burial), and names started getting tossed about willy nilly.
A lot of people were really totally sure it was a new alias of Norman Cook, others had been told by a bloke who knows a guy that it was Armand Van Helden, someone told me it was a super group made up of Tiesto, Diplo, Banksy, Batman and Lord Lucan. What a fuss. Then everyone found out that it was Theo Keating (DJ Touche) all along. When he started DJing as Fake Blood, Keating didn't bother with a mask or any silliness like that, and his secret identity was forever compromised. Obviously his set was ace, he played nice bassy tunes that had the crowd in Mine bouncing very happily along. He gave it 110% and, fair play to the boy, at the end of the day that's all we can ask.
But enough of the things of the past! Let us leave them bouncing on their spacehoppers with Timmy Mallett and look instead to the glorious future, to a time of hovercars, teleportation and armies of eager subservient robots to cater to our every whim.
In November Wax:On is filling the union with a smorgasbord of tasty treats to tantalise even the tricksiest tastebuds. Annie Mac is helming this bejewelled behemoth, spoiling us with everyone's favourite Teutonic twosome in the form of Digitalism, lovely retro Ladyhawke and one of the most impressively bearded men to ever squelch a bassline, the Don Corleone of fidget house, Switch. The deliciously voluptuous line up also includes DJ Zinc, Brodinski, Plastician, Digital Mystikz and the effervescent Doorly. I, for one, am already moist with excitement.
Hail Xenu
The man who would become Fatboy Slim was born Quentin Leo Cook on July 1963. Now Quentin is obviously a very dorky name, so the big beat pioneer did the obvious thing and changed it. To Norman. Whoops.
Wax:On appears to have recovered from its brief flirtation with skinny jeans, Mission and Sundays. It sidled back into the forgiving embrace of the union like a guilty husband who had a bit too much fun on a business trip. In the place of empty promises and supermarket flowers it attempted to appease poor Stylus with a Halloween fancy dress special. And jolly good it was too. It was very cute that many of the acts on the line up seemed to have been booked because they have vaguely Halloweeny names (Disco Bloodbath, Fake Blood, the Bloody Beetroots), but they missed a trick by not getting Skream involved.
The heavily hyped Japanese Popstars are an elusive bunch. So elusive in fact, that they completely failed to show up. The Plump DJs and the Bloody Beetroots were the big headliners in the main room, and performed admirably, but for many the main draw of the night was to be found lower down the bill and tucked away in room 2.
The no show by the Jappy Pops (as they're apparently known in Derry) lead many to abandon Stylus in favour of Mine, and we were welcomed with open arms by Wax:On's newest superstar resident DJ, Mr Martin Doorly esq. He’s a guy who really knows what he’s doing. You’d be happily dancing along and then all of a sudden he’d nonchalantly slip in something like ‘Breathe’ by The Prodigy, that Caspa mix of ’Where’s My Money’ or ‘Never Be Alone’ as if it’s no big thing. And obviously it is. Predictably, everyone lost their minds. Magnificent.
How good is Mine by the way? The answer? Very very good. I love it in there! It's all cool and tunnel shaped and there are nice sofas if you want a little rest. Perfect.
When the first Fake Blood remixes started to surface on them internets about a year ago they got a lot of knickers very twisted. Not only were the tracks all unbelievably strong, but this Mr. Blood chap was keeping his identity a closely guarded secret. Word got out that it was a side project by an established act, rather than just some guy (like Burial), and names started getting tossed about willy nilly.
A lot of people were really totally sure it was a new alias of Norman Cook, others had been told by a bloke who knows a guy that it was Armand Van Helden, someone told me it was a super group made up of Tiesto, Diplo, Banksy, Batman and Lord Lucan. What a fuss. Then everyone found out that it was Theo Keating (DJ Touche) all along. When he started DJing as Fake Blood, Keating didn't bother with a mask or any silliness like that, and his secret identity was forever compromised. Obviously his set was ace, he played nice bassy tunes that had the crowd in Mine bouncing very happily along. He gave it 110% and, fair play to the boy, at the end of the day that's all we can ask.
But enough of the things of the past! Let us leave them bouncing on their spacehoppers with Timmy Mallett and look instead to the glorious future, to a time of hovercars, teleportation and armies of eager subservient robots to cater to our every whim.
In November Wax:On is filling the union with a smorgasbord of tasty treats to tantalise even the tricksiest tastebuds. Annie Mac is helming this bejewelled behemoth, spoiling us with everyone's favourite Teutonic twosome in the form of Digitalism, lovely retro Ladyhawke and one of the most impressively bearded men to ever squelch a bassline, the Don Corleone of fidget house, Switch. The deliciously voluptuous line up also includes DJ Zinc, Brodinski, Plastician, Digital Mystikz and the effervescent Doorly. I, for one, am already moist with excitement.
Hail Xenu
Bad Robot with Herve 15/10/08
"Fascinating creatures, looks like a lady but really it's a man. I don't find them attractive, it's just confusing."
- Alan Partridge
In Samoa they have three genders: male, female and fa’afafine. Fa’afafine are boys who are raised as girls from childhood, assuming traditionally feminine roles in society (caring for the elderly, the young and occasionally providing sexual encounters for the pubescent). Lady boys are boys who tired of being boys, sort of went for it but didn’t commit the whole way. Currently some of them are in Leeds challenging the curious to games of sexuality Russian roulette inside their big top of iniquity. It reminds me of the time my friend told me he “really fancies the girl from Hanson”.
Remember when they showed you how to make a Tracey Island on Blue Peter, for all the losers whose parents didn't love them enough to buy a real one? I have invented a thing, similar to the Blue Peter thing but more lady boy themed. It’s a fun little game you absolutely should try at home. Simply take a playmate of the opposite sex, find a full length mirror and strip off. The gentleman then positions himself behind the lady and pokes his man parts through her legs, creating a delightful optical illusion! It's every little girl's dream to one day be a lady boy, and now the dream can become reality! Take some photos! Set them as your facebook profile! What a way to take a loving relationship to 'the next level'!
Apparently Herve (Josh Harvey to his mother) is going out with Annie Mac. I know this because they were making out at Wax:On last new year's eve. That night he was there as half of Speakerjunk, playing with the geriatrically monikered demon of magnificence that is Trevor Loveys. At Bad Robot he was Herve, but he also produces as the Count (hit me on my beeper, beeper, beeper), Action Man, Dead Soul Brothers, Voodoo Chilli, Young Lovers and he's part of the fidget house Harlem Globetrotters known as Machines Don't Care.
So here’s a question: Why the hell isn’t Bad Robot rammed every week? Doesn’t anyone realise that it’s just the same as Wax:On, but a third of the price on the door and with £1.50 drinks? Seriously. £1.50. And yet Stylus was only half full (although at least five people were dressed in home made tin foil and cardboard robot costumes. Heroes). On the same night thousands of people crowded into the soulless cess pit of mediocrity that is Oceana to worship at the alter of the blandest most uninspired crud ever to masquerade as music. What the fuck? Anyway, Herve was predictably amazing, coming as no surprise to anyone who heard his recent Mixmag cover mount CD or the Essential Mix he did with Sinden, his chief co-conspirator and the headliner at an equally splendid Bad Robot a couple of weeks ago. The beats banged and the bass wobbled, as is their wont.
In conclusion, go to Bad Robot, it’s amazing. If you don’t they’ll probably shut down and you’ll only have yourselves to blame. And I will be sad.
God save the Queen.
In Samoa they have three genders: male, female and fa’afafine. Fa’afafine are boys who are raised as girls from childhood, assuming traditionally feminine roles in society (caring for the elderly, the young and occasionally providing sexual encounters for the pubescent). Lady boys are boys who tired of being boys, sort of went for it but didn’t commit the whole way. Currently some of them are in Leeds challenging the curious to games of sexuality Russian roulette inside their big top of iniquity. It reminds me of the time my friend told me he “really fancies the girl from Hanson”.
Remember when they showed you how to make a Tracey Island on Blue Peter, for all the losers whose parents didn't love them enough to buy a real one? I have invented a thing, similar to the Blue Peter thing but more lady boy themed. It’s a fun little game you absolutely should try at home. Simply take a playmate of the opposite sex, find a full length mirror and strip off. The gentleman then positions himself behind the lady and pokes his man parts through her legs, creating a delightful optical illusion! It's every little girl's dream to one day be a lady boy, and now the dream can become reality! Take some photos! Set them as your facebook profile! What a way to take a loving relationship to 'the next level'!
Apparently Herve (Josh Harvey to his mother) is going out with Annie Mac. I know this because they were making out at Wax:On last new year's eve. That night he was there as half of Speakerjunk, playing with the geriatrically monikered demon of magnificence that is Trevor Loveys. At Bad Robot he was Herve, but he also produces as the Count (hit me on my beeper, beeper, beeper), Action Man, Dead Soul Brothers, Voodoo Chilli, Young Lovers and he's part of the fidget house Harlem Globetrotters known as Machines Don't Care.
So here’s a question: Why the hell isn’t Bad Robot rammed every week? Doesn’t anyone realise that it’s just the same as Wax:On, but a third of the price on the door and with £1.50 drinks? Seriously. £1.50. And yet Stylus was only half full (although at least five people were dressed in home made tin foil and cardboard robot costumes. Heroes). On the same night thousands of people crowded into the soulless cess pit of mediocrity that is Oceana to worship at the alter of the blandest most uninspired crud ever to masquerade as music. What the fuck? Anyway, Herve was predictably amazing, coming as no surprise to anyone who heard his recent Mixmag cover mount CD or the Essential Mix he did with Sinden, his chief co-conspirator and the headliner at an equally splendid Bad Robot a couple of weeks ago. The beats banged and the bass wobbled, as is their wont.
In conclusion, go to Bad Robot, it’s amazing. If you don’t they’ll probably shut down and you’ll only have yourselves to blame. And I will be sad.
God save the Queen.
New Bohemia with Danny Breaks 3/10/08
I learnt a thing recently. The thing is as follows: MacDonald's will not let you have a Happy Meal after 11 at night. They've got all the various bits there, they just won't put one together for you. It's an active choice they've made, that there will be no late night happiness at MacDonald's.
By the sound of their name Northern Hostility should be the sort of nasty little pikeys the right wing press are currently soiling themselves about, a group of unpleasant spalpeens (look it up) running around putting knives into the elderly. All in all, not a very happy group of lads.
Actually they seem a fairly amiable bunch. Also, there are fucking loads of them. According to their myspace they are a collective of 17 mcs, 8 producers and 4 djs. They come across a bit like the Liberty X to Blazin' Squad's Hear'Say, they're not as pretty, but you get the impression that they may have a personality or two between them, and maybe even be capable of original thought.
Despite not nearly being able to fit on the stage at the Fav they were pretty good, doing that distinctively UK kind of hip hop you get from guys like Skinnyman, Mark B and Blade and fellow Leeds boy Kid Acne, and they talked in Yorkshire accents between songs, which is always funny., and one of their tracks contains the priceless line: "We get your attention like a pair of fake tits". For that I can only praise them.
New Bohemia is a lovely place where lovely people play lovely music to other lovely people. Tonight's lovely person in chief was Mr Danny Breaks, the rave pioneer (as 'Sonz of a Loop Da Loop Era') turned drum and bass pioneer turned hip hop experimentalist, turned actual proper legend. Recently he's done a (storming) collaboration on Mr Scruff's new album. Mr Scruff is a pretty good reference point for Danny Breaks, they both favour quality hip hop and share a love for a prize winning marrow of a bassline.
Just as Danny Breaks was getting into the swing of things, we were joined by some very special visitors. A delegation from the North Yorkshire constabulary paid the lovely people a visit, lured in by the splendidly wobbly bass line of Danny's track 'the jellyfish'. More numerous even than Northern Hostility, they sidled in, sealed perimeters, dispatched a posse in the direction of the toilets then just stood around for a bit. Then they left.
Either they quickly realised the futility of attempting a 'Dirty Disco' style drug bust or they were imposters, a stunt set up by Northern Hostility to make them seem a bit more edgy and gangsta. Perhaps we will never know. Or care. In conclusion, go to New Bohemia, it's great. Much better than MacDonald's.
By the sound of their name Northern Hostility should be the sort of nasty little pikeys the right wing press are currently soiling themselves about, a group of unpleasant spalpeens (look it up) running around putting knives into the elderly. All in all, not a very happy group of lads.
Actually they seem a fairly amiable bunch. Also, there are fucking loads of them. According to their myspace they are a collective of 17 mcs, 8 producers and 4 djs. They come across a bit like the Liberty X to Blazin' Squad's Hear'Say, they're not as pretty, but you get the impression that they may have a personality or two between them, and maybe even be capable of original thought.
Despite not nearly being able to fit on the stage at the Fav they were pretty good, doing that distinctively UK kind of hip hop you get from guys like Skinnyman, Mark B and Blade and fellow Leeds boy Kid Acne, and they talked in Yorkshire accents between songs, which is always funny., and one of their tracks contains the priceless line: "We get your attention like a pair of fake tits". For that I can only praise them.
New Bohemia is a lovely place where lovely people play lovely music to other lovely people. Tonight's lovely person in chief was Mr Danny Breaks, the rave pioneer (as 'Sonz of a Loop Da Loop Era') turned drum and bass pioneer turned hip hop experimentalist, turned actual proper legend. Recently he's done a (storming) collaboration on Mr Scruff's new album. Mr Scruff is a pretty good reference point for Danny Breaks, they both favour quality hip hop and share a love for a prize winning marrow of a bassline.
Just as Danny Breaks was getting into the swing of things, we were joined by some very special visitors. A delegation from the North Yorkshire constabulary paid the lovely people a visit, lured in by the splendidly wobbly bass line of Danny's track 'the jellyfish'. More numerous even than Northern Hostility, they sidled in, sealed perimeters, dispatched a posse in the direction of the toilets then just stood around for a bit. Then they left.
Either they quickly realised the futility of attempting a 'Dirty Disco' style drug bust or they were imposters, a stunt set up by Northern Hostility to make them seem a bit more edgy and gangsta. Perhaps we will never know. Or care. In conclusion, go to New Bohemia, it's great. Much better than MacDonald's.
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