< > Dr. Dre has been promising us all Detox for about fifteen years, but last Friday he released an album EXCLUSIVELY on iTunes called Compton! What a swizz. Maybe Detox will be his fourth album? I don't know. Anyway, Compton came out last Friday, and I queued up outside the iTunes Store with my sleeping bag and Thermos flask for about three days before realising the iTunes Store was on the internet, not on Regents Street! I wondered why people kept throwing five pence pieces and half-eaten Big Macs at me. LOLoutLOUD. As soon as I got home, I showered, ate some toast and downloaded Compton from the cyber iTunes Store.
Halfway through the listening to the intro I started Tweeting about how good the entire album was and wrote on Facebook, "Recognise, bruh. The big man Dre has not lost it, guys! This album is fucking IMMENSE, bruh!" alongside a photo of me making a Westside hand sign, wearing my brand new NWA t-shirt and drinking a nice cup of tea in the conservatory of my modest three-bedroom terraced house in the London Borough of Ealing.
By the end of the album, I was still Tweeting about how brilliant it is, but privately I was wondering why I could hardly make out what any of the rappers on the album, Dr. Dre included, were rapping about. Compton is a good album, but in The Chronic and 2001, you could really hear what Dre, Snoop and Eminem were saying. I really have to cock my ear to Compton to know what's happening in it. Maybe Dr. Dre left the low fuzz effect on the vocal track by mistake and his engineers were too scared to tell him. Really great beats though.
< > On Wednesday morning, I published an hilarious piece about how Thump/VICE didn't pay me for something I wrote after offering me money to write for them in the first place. It's on the world famous Weekly Review of Dance Music, which, ironically, I work harder on than anything else I do, but doesn't make me any money due to the ever deteriorating page views (unless I'm interviewing a famous DJ) and a complete lack of interest from advertisers. LOLoutLOUD. WRDM52 (Tonka's Orders: Go Fuck Yourself) is not just a diss track aimed at two sloppy staffers at Thump; it's also a mature, carefully considered and well researched think-piece on the publisher/contributor relationship. Have a read and share it about your Twitters and Facebooks for me. Would you do that for me, ladies and gentlemen?
Most of the feedback I've received after posting WRDM52 (Tonka's Orders: Go Fuck Yourself) has been positive. However, some think that the dusty looking, dick-faced liars at these big, cash rich magazines are ok to fuck their writers about because it's just the way it is, the way it's always been. Are we that subservient and desperate to appear in mags like Thump and DJ Mag that we'll go without bread and water (metaphor for money) and starve (metaphor for not having any money)?
The toothless bonehead that Moe Syzslak is saying “whaaaaaa?!?!?!” to in the picture above is calling me a cunt, but it sounds to me like he’s the one getting fucked. Chasing payment is a reality of being freelance? For months? It's part of the job? Hang on a minute. If that's the case, then you lot (freelancers) need to organise yourselves better and reverse things because I'm sure you'll agree that it's a dumb reality, and you're the ones being glib about getting rattled from behind by the staffers, editors and whoever whilst you keep hitting deadlines for them on a promise. Rise from your graves, fellas and fellettes. Who's with me?
< > This week's Tonka's Week is sponsored by lemonade. Drink lemonade.
< > Gangsta rap. Tick. Plug for this week's WRDM. Tick. Porn. Not yet. WWF. I've been watching a lot of old school WWF videos on YouTube this week (tick) and there's one thing I've noticed about wrestlers in the late 80s/early-mid 90s. They were all fucking brilliant compared to the wrestlers who were about when I reached the age of about 15 and stopped watching WWF because I was watching hardcore pornography (tick) round Jonathan Ball's house every weekend.
I learned so many sex moves from watching his dad's videos in the mid 90s: on top, from behind, fingers up, snogging, snogging down below, boobs, her on top, 69ing, him snogging you down below before she'd let you do anything with her in an American Football team's locker room, pissing on glass coffee tables, finishing on the face, cream pies, leather masks and 10-in-a-van. Do I put these moves into place today? My lips are sealed. A gentleman never tells. Winking smiley face.
< > José Mourinho must be stark raving mad to be getting rid of Eva Carneiro! Have you seen her? Fucking hell, José, if you don’t want THE REST OF THIS SECTION HAS BEEN REMOVED BY R$N LAWYERS ON THE GROUNDS OF DECENCY AND TASTE
< > I’m writing this week’s Tonka’s Week whilst listening to a deluxe, remastered edition of Walking Wounded by Everything But The Girl on my black, Gear 4 hi-fi stereo CD player and iPod dock at WRDMHQ. I’ve never really listened to them before, but, I must say, writing about Dr. Dre, liars, lemonade, wrestlers, hardcore sex and gorgeous lady football medical staff members whilst listening to Tracey Thorn’s warm, English voice over the top of Ben Watt’s warm, English break beats and skittery-ittery electric-percussive grooves is a strangely warm and English experience, and it’s inspired me to continue making music in Ableton 9.
Look, I remixed All In A Day’s Work by Dr. Dre. Have a listen; it’s on my Facebook page. This one.
Walking Wounded AND Temperamental (which I haven’t listened to yet, but I will) by Everything But The Girl is out in the shops on Friday 4 September on Edsel Records, and if you don’t buy it you are a traitor to your people.