So here it is! 'Telling you what to think' - the Weekly Review of Dance Music's first R$N goodness...
Decades before Sir Jimmy Savile acted out his vile atrocities; he wrote, produced, directed and starred in a wholesome BBC One show about fulfilling childrens fantasies. Jimmy Savile Will Fix It splashed itself all over our television screens between 1975 and a month before Jimmys 2012 arrest and subsequent death at the hands of Her Majestys pleasure. Shane Ritchie now runs Jimmy Savile Will Fix It but its not as good and beside the point.
When two young, definitely over the age of consent men wrote to me asking if I could fix it for them to travel to Ibiza and go to a Steve Bug concert as WRDM junior reporters I couldnt help but think of that eccentric cigar-chomping old paedophile and smile. Now then, now then, how could I possibly let these two scamps down after such a lovely letter?
Please can you fix it for me and my brother to be dance music journalists in Ibiza? Your blog is our fave website and Steve Bug is the bestest DJ in the whole wide world!!!
(See said letter to your right)
I made one phone call and secured AAA VIP silver service at Ibizas most powerful nightspot for my two little galloping galleons. Adam and his brother, Russell, were to review We Love at Space for the most powerful arts and culture blog in the UK, and The Ran$om Note.
Never before had they been abroad, so after I dropped them off at the airport I popped a little Gideon Bible into their lunch boxes and told them not to worry about turbulence: Its just God placing his hand under the body of the plane and playing with it, I assured them. I reminded them to take lots of photos, pester Steve Bug for an autograph and catch West Ham heartthrob Andy Carroll playing a special football songs set on the Premier Etage.
I also set them one task above all others, to bag an EXCLUSIVE for Ran$om Note, my latest online sister. After sensationally signing a temporary contract with The Ransom last week Ive been eager to impress the shadowy powers that be at RNHQ with a big story. Did my two sausage rolls disappoint?
Read on for their version of events; deciphered, spell-corrected and ghost written entirely by me.
First class flying with easyJet quite literally flew by, but dragged thanks to a 37 year old woman who had come straight from a house party. Would she shut up about Molly? Would she? My patience returned as our sky carriage sank into the Ibizan atmosphere and I viewed the white landscape throwing itself up ahead. Nudging my brother, I nodded towards the sand etched legend that crept towards us. Looks like theyre waiting for us, Russ.
We had initially planned to attend Zoo Project on Saturday afternoon but Tonka's secretary, Liz, had failed to secure guest list - and when told about a 60 door charge, we instead sojourned to a traditional Spanish Irish pub and discussed Gareth Bale's steroid abuse and Jose Altidore.
A la noche we stepped it up and, contrary to Tonkas instructions, got absolutely fucking terminated on the first nighton booze. Sankey's operates the most amazing air conditioning system though. Their use of ducting perfectly complimented the energy exerted by large haired men and large legged women as Finnebassen played a pure beats set.
I was told by Tonka that Ibiza was a shagging paradise. Well, it was, but only for Russell, who was at it like a rabbit from the first night to the last, while I didnt manage to get my leg over on the whole trip. Russell and I both pulled at Sankeys but while he took his girl to bed, mine didnt want to know and I spent the rest of the night desperately trying to pick someone else up. I was getting frantic towards the end of the night and going for uglier and uglier birds.
However, the purpose of our trip was to review We Love at Space on Sunday, so whilst we had a good night at Sankeys, we apologise unreservedly to Tonka for disobeying orders not to get trollied the night before Sunday and I would like to express my regret to Maxine.
We jogged to Space after dining in the only restaurant in Sa Caleta. With a drop of Tonkas name, Russell and I were ushered in through the kitchens by a man called Mark. I felt like one of those broads in Goodfellas who Ray Liotta ends up fucking. Mark was casual, but when questioned as to why he was covered head to toe in glitter, he told me it was because he'd just strangled a tranny. Only in Ibiza! Access All Areas granted and free drink tokens - thanks again, Tonka and Mark.
At midnight I received a text message that read, "Meet me at the bar in El Salon. I'm very small & Indian." Leena was both of those things and more. Quite the sight we must have looked to a bedevilled punter chancing upon this pair at the bar. I didnt look like I belonged there, but here I was drinking shot after shot after shot of black Sambuca with a beautiful young lady in Space as Daisy Heartbreaker played minimal industrial edits of 70s pop. Leena works for We Love and, having heard I worked for WRDM, was eager to show off her dance music credentials. Wanna know a secret? she screeched in my ear. I nodded a nod that could only mean yes. Tell Tonka that Paris Hilton has secured a 2014 residency at Amnesia, but dont let on it was me who told you, ok?
An EXCLUSIVE bagged, I ran off to the Terrace to meet Russell after my lady host went to the toilet.
Belleville DJ, Kevin Saunderson, doesn't seem to age in terms of music or looks. You can tell that hes had a... Good Life. We weren't Inner City, we were in a nightclub called Space, but we still had Big Fun. Winking smiley face. Kevin Saunderson is the only DJ Ive ever seen who could mix a slow African percussion tool into a 128bpm techno mood changer. Highlights of his 2 hour set, excluding tracks of his own, hinted at previously, he played Voices Of Life - Say The Word, and Evelyn 'Champagne' King's - You Make My Love Come Down. As he brought the house down with a fabulous rendition of Good Life I grabbed three cans of lager from the DJ booth fridge, tossed one to my brother Russell and nonchalantly chucked one in Kevins direction. He caught it one-handed as he performed a perfect spin-back with his other (hand). Kevin, Russell and I all screamed CHEERS and clinked our tins together like they would do at the end of a sports film. As Kevin left the stage for Steve Bug he was eager to contribute some content to the Weekly Review of Dance Music and Ran$om Note.
"Yeah, I'm good thanks, mate. Happy you enjoyed it. See ya later"
I never did see him later and I honestly dont remember what Steve Bug was like; I was too busy making friends on the dance floor because of Molly and MDMA; another dereliction of journalistic duty on my part, for which I apologise unreservedly to Tonka.
What a weekend! As we drug walked back to the airport on Monday afternoon, past the louts who hang around outside DC10, we stopped to innocently watch two young Hispanic boys searching the depths of a ground-level hotel swimming pool. One of the boys swam to the surface gripping what looked like a diving dagger in his mouth. His friend helped him out of the pool and they sat transfixed with their new toy, the wetness on their young, taut bodies drying quicker in the Balearic sun than it would do in Guildford or Middlesbrough.
As the two young boys began licking the toy as if it were a pretend 99, my brother and I watched in frozen horror as our eyes began to work properly again. What they were eagerly lapping up was a large set of anal beads!
We dont know the Spanish for: put them anal beads down now, you stupid little fuckers, so we carried on our hazy, light-legged journey home in silence.
"Please note that they will never, ever, EVER work for me again though. Future posts for you will be exclusively Tonka."