< > Friedrich Nietzsche once wrote (in a book, with a very straight face) that human beings can't be arsed with God anymore because we all reckon that WE are God now, or Superman, or something. Well, that boring cunt has obviously never been to the Jewellery Quarter in Birmingham, because God turns up at B13 twice a year with a load of disciples who AREN'T called John, Peter, Simon, James, Paul, Kevin, Luke, Michael or Judas. These ones are called Sir Real, Terry “Adidas” Donovan, Zit, Tony, Karenn, Karl, err, DJ X, Paul Damage and Deadbeat. Yes, God touches down in Brum twice a year from Heaven to, fuck me, I'm losing my thread on this bit, now. Sorry. I went to House of God last week, and it was fucking brilliant.
House of God celebrated their 24th birthday with a line-up that included veteran of the scene, Surg…nah, that’s a bit boring. Let’s try again.
I ponced a slug of red mega (loads of crushed up ecstasy E tablets inside a big bag of Columbian Charlie chalk) off of my mate and sniffed it up my nostril in the bogs of the Lord Clifton before summoning my pals to join me on the walk to the Tunnel Club, because it was time to go to House of God at the Tunnel Club, and, ugh. This is a really shit intro. How do I start a review of a club night that I can’t be objective about because I like everyone who runs it and DJs at it? However you look at it, House of God is un-reviewable. It’s gone on forever, and it will continue to go on forever. They only put on two parties a year, and every party is special. Nobody comes away from House of God with a negative opinion. Even bearded, middle-aged, rare disco edit bores in east London would enjoy House of God. And they don’t enjoy anything.
I saw a load of old faces in House of God, and I mean old; there was nobody there under fifty-five years old - apart from me, Manni Dee and Oli from THEM Records. I was talking with veteran of the scene, Regis, at the bar when he turned to me, laughed, patted me on the shoulder and sa…sigh, I’m boring myself here. What else is happening?
< > Everyone has been going mad this week about Ed Sheeran selling loads of records. So what? Good for him. Why can't people let other people enjoy a bit of success? I reckon it's all jealousy. I'm not a racialist anymore, or a nationalist, but what I'm about to say is quite jingoistic: I am proud, PROUD, that Ed Sheeran is the one selling records all over the globe, just like I am PROUD of Adele selling her records all over the place, too. I think it's brilliant. I love the fact that a fat, ugly bird and a little, ginger, four-eyed bloke are the highest selling artists on earth. I'm happier still that they are English. They're English and proud, like me. I'm proud to be English. English and proud.
I've not even heard any of these Ed Sheeran songs, but they must be alright for everyone on earth to be buying them. Right? RIGHT? Right. He's not THAT bad. Right? Right. Ok.
< > I still have to pinch myself that I have regular, online Facebook banter with veteran of the scene, Ivan Smagghe. Honestly, the amount of times I pa...fucking hell, I've changed. Next.
< > Right. What else has been happening this week? I've been thinking that Tonka's Week has been absolutely fucking shit lately - and rare - like the last days of Hotflush, and I need to switch things up a bit; freshen up, so as not to dry up, mentally. I've been writing Tonka's Week since 2013, and I'm fucking bored, ladies and gentlemen.
So, this is an open letter to my many hundreds of fans on social media and to the editorial team at Ran$om Note. How about I go back to my roots and resurrect the Weekly Review of Dance Music (again), but on the Ran$om Note? LOLoutLOUD. WRDM was a laugh, but look at the state of it now. It's a load of bollocks and it’s a ghost town. If there are any records that nobody else at R$N wants to listen to, send them my way and I'll review the fuck out of them. I don't mind receiving MP3s or proper records, it's all the fucking same to me. I just love dance music. I crave it. I want and need it. Dance music is what runs through my veins, not #JezWeCan, wanking over XXX red-hot bisexual lesbians and old-school WWF videos on Facebook. I'm sick to fucking death of Tonka's Week, so let's knock it on the head now and do some reviews again. Who's with me?
WHO'S WITH ME?
< > Farr Festival is back in July with a great line-up of DJs, live acts, shops and psychedelic video displays, etc. I’ve not really had a look at what’s on other than the Ran$om Note area, to be honest. You’ve got veteran of the scene, Ivan Smagghe, headlining the Saturday night. Veteran of the scene, Tama Sumo, is on and all. Future veteran of the scene, Bawrut, is on at some point. I can’t remember who else is on (I’ll Google it in a minute and paste the flyer above this bit), but I’m sure they’re all really great DJs. It’ll be really, really great, I’m sure.
I’ve bought my ticket from this link here…have YOU?
< > To clarify: I don’t wank over old-school WWF videos on Facebook. That was an independent clause. I think it was an independent clause, anyway. If there are any English language/grammar bores out there who read this, can you let me know if my use of, “independent clause”, is correct when referring to wanking over lesbians and watching wrestling videos?
< > To clarify: I’ll probably end up doing Tonka’s Week again next week. I’m just rebelling against myself at the moment.