<> The Mosley Folk Festival in Mosley was the setting for the unlikely surroundings of my whole body on one night last Friday night in Mosley, Birmingham in the West Midlands, just south of Walsall. My dad had bought me, Draper and Nigel Close some tickets because we all used to like The Smiths and Sonic Youth. I still like The Smiths, but after watching Sonic Youth live in Brixton ten years ago with Micky John I went right off them. They charged twenty seven quid for an hour and a half of feedback and some shit singer dancing. Thankfully, The Smiths will never reform - Mozza told me that in his book - so I'm never going to be disappointed by them.
Johnny Marr at the Mosley Folk Festival was fucking brilliant. He followed every one of his own songs by a The Smiths songs for an hour and a half, except for the times he played an Electronic song or one by The Clash. Mosely is a funny place. It’s a bit like Pitshanger in Ealing, but it’s in Birmingham so it’s not half as good…and I can say that because I’m from West Bromwich and my dad lives in Kings Heath, which is even more pretentious than Mosley, which I still find amusing because people from Mosley and Kings Heath live in Birmingham and STILL have a superiority complex…even though they live in Birmingham. LOLoutLOUD.
<> Before watching Johnny Marr, I intentionally stayed in the bar whilst Thurston Moore was on outside because of 2004. I was planning on getting steamed up and lairy in time for the Marr stuff but I ended up drinking only one pint of beer because I was entranced by a three-piece band playing at the end of the small, rectangular tent. Sunshine Frisbee Laserbeam might be an appalling name for a band but the music coming out of them was the opposite of appalling. It was good. I’d not seen a band that good by accident since 2003 when I was blown away by the support for the Yeah Yeah Yeahs; a band called Kaito, and I’m not just saying this because the singer bought me a single whisky chaser after the gig. Sunshine Frisbee Laserbeam are fucking brilliant – they’re what I imagine Win Butler wanted Arcade Fire to sound like before they all started taking MDMA after The Suburbs – and, if you’re in London, go and watch them down Birthdays in Dalston on Saturday 4 October.
<> I stayed up to watch a programme called Some Vicars with Jokes on Wednesday night (BBC2). It was proper fucking shit. The opposite of proper fucking shit is absolutely fucking brilliant. It’s absolutely fucking brilliant news that Classic returns to its ‘spiritual home’ (not my words) tomorrow night at the Dalston Superstore in Dalston, London.
My dear friend, Dan Beaumont, will be joined by Luke Solomon, Squeaky, Hannah Holland and a bloke called Gideon who is coming all the way from Block 9 in New York’s Downlow. And YOU thought Gideon was a bloke who leaves bibles in your hotel drawer (my words). LOLoutLOUD.
Get down there and get down (dance).
<> I got that terminated down Club Fabric on Saturday night for Nina Kraviz and Marcel Dettmann that I ended up walking all the way to Tir Chonaill Gaels in Greenford on the Sunday morning. It felt like a melted dream. I’d gone from yabbering love into the ears of everyone in the dark to avoiding drunken punches and massive tractors trying to run me over in the sun. Weird. It turned out that it was now Sunday afternoon and I’d stumbled into the annual Tractor and Classic Car Road Rally at the London Irish Vintage Club. Fuck me, I’ve never been anywhere more Irish in my life. ‘Thick’ Mick O’Quinn was having a tug of war with Arthur ‘Paddy’ McMolyneux whilst ‘Irish’ Pat Boyle was smashing a pint of Guinness over the back of a horse called Wheels of Steel for stampeding all over his badly tarmacked green caravan. And I can say that because my Nanny Doreen’s second husband was a quarter Irish.
I couldn’t make head nor tales of what I was seeing so I just sat in the sunshine and watched a fiddle band sing songs by Bob Dylan, Johnny Cash and, inexplicably, they performed an instrumental version of Pushing On by Oliver $ and Jimi Jules! It was then that I remembered to buy the original on iTunes. You can do so too. Click on this link here and help PUSH Oli and Jimi to the top of the charts: pushing-on
After that, I walked on to Northolt and had an after-party on my own.
<> That bossy Indian parole officer in that clip on YouPorn; ‘Bossy Indian Parole Officer Punishes Her Parolees’ don’t half get punished herself. She starts by telling two young prisoners off and ends up getting her back doors smashed in and her mouth filled by two cocks at the same time by the people she was supposed to be punishing! She then has both of them sprinkling her face to finish. If this is the UK justice system in action I’m going to start beating up old men outside Scotland Yard. Can you imagine being on parole and having to double-up on a sexy parole officer who punishes you by letting you degrade her in every way imaginable in a hotel room? Fucking sign me up, lads. Winking smiley face.
<> I’ve done fuck all else this week. Oh no, I have. I had a listen to the upcoming Craig Richards Get Lost VII CD on Crosstown Rebels. It’s exactly like being at one of his famous back-to-back DJ sessions with Ricardo Villalobos down Club Fabric, in a good way. There are some great songs on there by Trans Mania, 2 House, dBRm, The Parallax Corporation, Craig Richards, Bangkok Impact and Brooks Mosher to name but seven. If you don’t believe me you can pre-order a copy off of here: crosstownrebels/get-lost-vii-mixed-by-craig-richards and then eat your fucking words off of a massive plate.
I wholeheartedly recommend you do because I’ve been trying to brown-nose my way into Damian Lazarus’s tight inner-circle for fucking ages now. Talk about Stink! This might be my last chance to impress him.
My Journey to Success: Get Rich or Die Trying continues. Remember, if I’m not making money from writing about dance music by the 1 January 2015, I’ll be committing suicide LIVE on my proper website, the world famous Weekly Review of Dance Music.
Get Lost VII mixed by Craig Richards is out on Monday 22 September.
<> Rest in Peace Joan Rivers. I can just imagine her up in Heaven now, getting off with Robin Williams and laughing with all the Palestinian children. “A joke’s a joke”, she’ll be rasping in their little faces with a wink and a knowing shake of her head. God bless her. God bless her NOW.