Cuban music is… You have God and directly below is Cuban music. For everybody who really is in the music scene, Cuban music is sacred. But African music is not far below it.
That is a bit of a Dokkum thing funnily enough, because we want to play with our friends rather than have a band with other people; you know, just to 'be in a band'.
You were always busy building things or making things, out of sound, making beer for your hobby, or fixing that bloody mixing desk!
Textured white-linen envelope, hand-written address and was that a whiff of fondue and Nazi gold? The provenance was evident, especially considering the wax seal embossed with the hallowed crest of the European Broadcasting Company. The long wait was over.
See, this was the beauty of the whole drone scene; you just logged in or out when you needed to, it helped refresh the mind rather than zonk it out.
The sheer intensity of Swans is always a wonder to behold.
Good People; who on this planet has the heart to tell Harry Merry to stop?
We walked in to see this Romanian genius in full flow. Man, he looked off his tits; rocking this 'unwanted lunatic at a family do' red kagoule-cum-dad's coat. Zipped up. Over a jumper.
This is a point where people are beginning to realise this is a really special show. I mean Neubauten are special anyway (they're not ELO are they) but this gig is sliding off the richter scale.
As they said earlier to me over a pre-gig pint “we’re the most provincial of the provincial”. How many bands have lyrics about their mam doing the dishes?
An old message brought to you by a new deliverer. Both EPs are brilliant, independent, fully rounded pop records with guts; and made without (though I can only suspect this to be the case) any targets, or Twitter followers or trajectories in mind.
Tricoli’s gig more than lives up to his LP’s reputation. Gothickle Musique Concrète has never sounded so fucking groovy.
Like some high priestess at Boudicca’s side, invoking an army of Wode-covered Hairies to the slaughter, Lipstate urges us on. Magic.
Violinist Adrian lets us know that he left the Netherlands that night, because he can't stand missing the gig. 'I'm absolutely fucking determined.' He drives from Gorinchem to Calais, takes the tunnel and then drives all the way up to Stockton.
This LP is really, really good. It's managed to traverse the chasm of weak, insipid, lukewarm sonic piss that lots of modern electronic pop slide into.
In all of this, the spirits of Arthur Lee and Skip Spence are invoked at every turn.
King Champion Sounds couldn't really fail; lined up on a stage in perfect order, they blasted out their tough, psyched-out rockasoul.
Also, it depends on what music has been playing in the office. If someone has been playing singer songwriters all day, there will be distorted kicks and heavy bass lines.
Things are looking dire for Baz, and if he wants to avoid a future slurping Super Noodles in a damp Damascus bedsit whilst working on his right arm, he needs big bucks fast, which means a new job.