Around this time last year i was knee deep in dirty old records knocking up what was later described as "solid gold" by the nice folk at one week to live. after mixing up almost a hundred records and hopefully a handful of satisfied customers i'm embarking on the difficult second album

that's about all i can say so far but expect more of the same with more edits and no doubt quicker mixes - less of the straight up bootlegs and more themed sections with possibly even a vinyl release

it's nasty...

and if u haven't yet got the first one they're only a fiver from Banquet

Can't remember the last time i knocked up a blog on here but i just surfaced from skylarkin last night and i thought i'd pen a few lines over a cuppa before i can be bothered to get out of bed.

in the world of ill thought out and predictable analogies i think uphill struggle would best describe last night's events. a text from count skylarkin before i arrived saying they only had one working deck, half an hour into my set i realised only one speaker was working, which explained why the crowd was congregating at the other end of the room, speaker gets fixed, suddenly there's immense bass and i almost blow the system, a sour faced woman asking if i'm gonna play reggae all night (at a reggae night). brian blessed would've been proud as we struggled on and flew the skylarkin flag once more in SW9.

i've never seen quite so many sleaze-bags in one room though, as a wise old man once said "you'll never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy" - i think i even spotted the guy with the bum-face.

also on the reggae tip if you haven't yet heard it i've chucked my dub of hard-fi's 'we need love' on my stoneleigh mountain rockers page, i'll be upping a new one for download next week and the 7" with my can't get a dub remix is out this monday. anyway enough self promotion, all i have left to tell u is the rockers album is finally underway including a dubbed out version of i feel love among a host of other echo heavy work outs, no confirmed release yet but i'll no doubt be spamming you all with more info when the time comes, until then, stay plawsh.

thomas

Contrary to what you may have heard or read, I'm far from dead. I'm not sure what this is all about but thank you to everyone who expressed their condolences or emailed asking if it was true. I was in South London on Friday night though the burst water-main on London Bridge put pay to me and no doubt hundreds of other drivers getting out of 1st gear for the majority of the journey, so I doubt anyone would've been going fast enough to cause a fatal accident anyway. Even more bizarre - a friend of mine said he'd dreamed I was in a car crash the other night though I'm 100% sure it's nothing to do with him.

All I can say is don't believe everything you read on Wikipedia, and if you're still not convinced I'll be proving I'm still of this earth by showing up to play Bacchus on Saturday night followed by a trip to The Scala to play a set of dub-disco at 4am, though I'll probably be feeling half dead by Sunday afternoon.

Just having a tea break from finishing off We Need Dub which will be hopefully adorning an NME covermount CD soon and thought i'd post up some of the pics from yesterday.

Went for a day trip to Yarnton just outside Oxford yesterday, where they have llamas instead of cars, to play some records from the inside of a shed to people who'd kindly given their money in aid of the Action for Brazilian Children charity and of course to have a little dance and probably get shitfaced on drugs and booze in a field. A field out the back of Jimmy Paige's house no less, or possibly Jimmy Page's mate, either way it was a nice big gaff and I'd quite like one myself - come on, the guy's from Epsom, he's probably been up Stoneleigh Mountain more times than he'd care to remember, we're almost like family. Ok maybe not and i doubt i've got a cashmere up my sleeve either but you can but dream. Actually Page was good mates with my mate Sarah's dad Mick Wayne but i digress...

So I played a slightly messy set of anything from batucadas to funk carioca through to that stupidly good tittsworth boot of easy by the commodores, stopped to watch Babyhead who weren't half bad, then cruised back to London to catch up with The Hard-Fi boys to find out how the shows have been fairing without me. The great thing about playing Virgin Megastore is having some executive meeting set up as a dressing room, which led to a few presentations and pie charts on some of the most pressing issues in indie pop.











anyway what are u reading this shit for? go out and buy the new hard-fi album, i want a big house (actually a bit of warehouse space would be good right now).

Anyone going to the next week or so of Hard-Fi gigs may or may not notice my absence at all bar 1 of the dates. Unfortunately tight budgets, and last minute confirmations put pay to having me on this tour but I'll be returning for the larger dates in the near future and of course darkening the doorstep of The Hippodrome next Thursday.

On a brighter note, the album's out on Monday and if you didn't know, it's been touched by the hand of Wrong here and there, you can preview the whole thing here but please go out and buy it, if only so they can afford me on the next tour. Plus it'd be nice to have produced a number 1!

Other current runnings include dub mixes of We Need Love and Can't Get Along from the aforementioned LP (hopefully there will be a Once Upon A Time In Dub eventually), plus I'm poised to bring the Rockers in to tinker with Let It Be by The Nextmen. Gig wise, I'll be doing a rare Brazilian set from Batucadas to Funk Carioca this Sunday at Festinho, so if you're near Oxford make your way over to Yarnton.

Well i did say the warm and fuzzy feelings would pass and i was right that they held out for Prince who was as expected completely amazing. i still have a few warm and fuzzy feeling left aside for Emma who set her alarm to get tickets then Cat who sneaked us down to the front where, had i not been wearing my good pants, i could easily have thrown them at him, though i guess we wouldn't have made it into the aftershow if i had done (also thanks to Cat!) Actually i still feel a little warm and fuzzy about the clipper trip up the thames, not to mention seeing the regal elf do a rough round the edges version of elephants and flowers on a little stage.

i'm not feeling particularly warm or fuzzy about potentially not doing the rest of the hard-fi tour however. i was pretty gutted about not doing glasgow but it sounds like i've been omitted from a few more over the next week or so and the game of answer machine tennis me and hardfi's manager keep playing is adding to the frustration. i could also do with a good night's sleep and a nice cup of tea

Just rolled in from a long haul back up the mountain from this years carnival and i thought i'd knock up a blog while i'm half asleep, so you've been pre-warned as this could be more of a rambler than usual.

The initial idea was to stroll up to mau mau's late sunday morning and play a set of dubs at midday before alex patterson of the orb fame came on. 45 minutes into my set i woke up having slept through my alarm after another late night session at Bacchus luxurious danceteria, and i shamefully packed my record bag and finally boarded the district line at about half 3. Stopped for a quick beverage at Nottinghill Arts club while the Nohopers set up for the YoYo after party, dumped my records with The Beast and headed into the throng of the fair.


Scott Styles knows all about 'the long arm of the law'

Next stop - Gaz's rockin blues, this year sporting a batman theme shedding light on the text "we're in front of the batcave" where i encounter a nicely inebriated Count Skylarkin and stay for a quick skank before hot footing it round the corner to Portobello. Trojan are all backed up when i get there with Don Letts still at the helm, Andy Smith and Trojan Soundsystem waiting with itchy feet to fit both their hour long sets into bitesize 20 minute portions before the 7 o'clock curfew, then it's a dash back across the aftermath and into YoYo's where i'm close to a cavity search after the doorman finds an unopened can of ginger beer in my napsack.


Brother Culture mid "Greeeeeeeeeeetiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiings" with Andy Smith.


Super 4 lights up Trojan Soundsystem.


The Rev psyching himself up to do the Patti Duke at YoYo.

Woke up this morning to find the sets had been switched round again, originally at 4, moved forward to 2ish and now back to 4 again. With bagel in hand i took a sunny stroll down to Liverpool St where i bumped into Jamie T's stage tech who looked slightly perturbed and a little relieved saying he's quite possibly jacked in the job then told me about his Air Jordan collection he's garnered using only his tour per dayums (he must be getting more than us anyway) over a cuppa.

It's a fight through the crowds on the Monday but i finally made it back to Portobello with a sack of 7's finding Mr Skylarkin already on the decks. Alex Patterson returns for an ultra brief set which he ditches after a disagreement with the sound man and we step up for an hour or so of back to back action. between sketchy mixes, forgetting to use the crossfader and microphone ramblings it's a wonder we had an audience but i guess just the right amount of bangers helps to rock a crowd and the good people of carnival made it all worth the aches and pains as i sit here tapping away at the keyboard half dozing off but feeling unusually warm an fuzzy about life - a feeling which i'm sure will pass but not before I see Prince tomorrow.







Managed to miss a full on ruck at a food stall while i was trying to find one which did callalou then headed back to Gaz's for the final hoe down as tradition holds that you can't go home til you've danced in the street to Dancing in the Street. Even the wheelchair-bound were making shapes.





Back at Mau Mau's dreading the after party after reports of funky house on sunday night, fortunately Mr Hudson saved the day playing bass with two girls I've forgotten the name of though one was Sting's daughter and the other was actually amazing busting into some perfect lovers rock styles whist holding down sickeningly good beats. I actually left at one point enticed back to the burbs with invitations of chicken but i swiftly about faced and wound up back on the decks til i realised i was gonna miss the tube home and went for a final dash through the piss flooded streets of what was another shit hot carnival.

I swear I've never sweat so much whilst djing as I did last night. About half an hour into my set i realised i was drenched, sweat dripping from my nose onto my records. Maybe i should compose myself a little whilst manning the decks? after an hour I took a look in my box and found i'd quick-mixed so many records i wasn't gonna make it through til 2am. So I guess I'm gonna have to calm down on the non stop record after record onslaught and play more than a minute or so of each or look for other ways to keep cool, maybe a special refrigerated dj booth or perhaps i could start djing naked.

I'm rooting for the DJ polls to add Sweatiest DJ to the nominations so i can be up there amongst the Slims, Oakenfolds, and Jules of the world next to Most Overpaid or Worst Dressed.

Anyway if you see me sweating in a dj booth anytime soon, please take pity on a damp disc jockey and feel free to bring me a nice cold drink and a towel.

Last week's trip to the Ibiza finally put pay to years of me saying "I wouldn't go there even if you paid me", so with my sober sell-out tail between my legs i packed my bags and boarded the Hard-Fi bus to the isle of all night debauchery, early morning pool parties and leathery old coke-heads.

Tuesday:

I amazingly arrived a couple hours early round Kai's house and was treated to a plate of Blighty's finest fish fingers and boiled spuds plus some carrots from his garden which backs onto a small donkey sanctuary. Once upon the bus I found out our sound man had been working at the Big Chill all weekend and after i moaned about the sound system at the dubshack he was straight on the blower shaming my name.

After checking in Ross's artillery of guitars and watching Glen the ever suffering but somehow still jovial tour manager haggle over hundreds of pounds worth of excess baggage charges, his phone goes off and it's NME journalist Mark Beaumont asking where we were. Unfortunately the raving reporter lucked out in his 4:1 gamble of London Airports and wound up shelling out 130-odd quid on a no doubt nail biting cab ride from Stanstead to Gatwick only to arrive a matter of minutes after the gates had closed.

A surprisingly smooth easyjet ride saw us to Ibiza sans Beamont where we alighted a garish myspace bus upholstered with leopard print, flame cushions and various whips and rubber outfits belonging to it's transexual driver Dizzy who at 54 describes herself as an inbetweeny opting to not bother with the full op but still securing herself the title of best legs at Manumission summer 06 - not bad work for an ex truck driver by the name of Ronny and grandmother of 2.

At the Villa Steve made friends with the local wildlife as we lounged by the pool til the small hours sippin on gin n juice and wondering where it all went wrong.



Wednesday:

I woke up to an empty Villa with the majority of the crew probably still out cold, put the kettle on and got my pasty legs out in the Balearic sun. Rich emerged an hour later closely followed by ominous grey clouds, by the time a belated Beaumont strolled through the door we were being treated to a full on storm. Next thing I'm told we're playing an open air venue and i prey for the safety of my joe smooth and gino latino records.

Luckily out of the hills and down in the hell hole of San Antontio things got a little dryer and we were treated like the Lords of Brits abroad with a set of free Nandos vouchers. Somehow i was 5 minutes late for my 30 minute set before the Fi take the stage but not before I've tried to cheat the sound limiters with a selection of balearic classics alongside some new disco dubs and nancy-boy italo workouts. As tradition now sits, Promised land lead the boys into a storming set then it was back to the villa for another early morning session winding up with clothed swimmers and whittling down to a handful who should've known better considering the band had to be on a plane back to London at the crack of dawn, which would no doubt be preempted by the over zealous cockerel in a nearby garden.






Thursday:

With the band out of bed, on the bus and gutted to find out they're delayed for 3 hours at the airport i waded through a sea of half drunk beers and discarded cheetos which i'd watched a Daily Star Journalist attempting to get in her mouth and succeeding to carpet the place with before falling asleep on the couch which was now occupied by Mr Beaumont probably nursing a Haribo hangover (we know how to party). While fishing cans out of the pool i found the body of a dead lizard lodged between a couple of cans of tiger and tipped a splosh of tea for the poor little scaly soldier. The rest of the day was spent on the road eating tapas, sizing up yachts in the harbour in eivissa town and generally not feeling half as guilty as we probably should while the Fi were kicking their heels in airports or punching each other backstage at the friday night project.







Friday:

We were expecting a sombre band to descend on the Villa in the dead of night after another delay at Gatwick but the next morning everyone was on top form, belly flopping in the pool, lounging in the sun which had finally come out in all it's "fuck you dreary London" glory and getting ready for a photoshoot for the NME. The first port of cool was a disused amusement park with decaying mechanical bulls, tatty old wagons and a giant gorilla as it's center piece. Next we head to a small beach on the edge of San Antonio where i'm taken aback by the sight of my earliest memory which has lingered since a family package deal when i was 3 - running around a sunkissed beach and playing on the orange and white pedalos which I had often described but never thought I'd ever actually find myself standing in the spot looking at what could very possibly be the same ones from the state of them. The picture i took gave me a bit of a chill as if someone had taken a snapshot of a recurring dream and showed it to me the moment i woke up.

Feeling a little 'special' and after feeding a cute cat in a fish restaurant which looked like it could switch and happily take your eye out, it was back to the villa to grab my records and head back to the heart of darkness which is San Antonio on a Friday night. I was actually panicking when we got to Dance Rocks at Es Paradis as we watched the act on before us entertain a mass of moush with their brand of full on 4X4 drums with added MC and percussion. I figured a box full of B-more, electro and ragga would clear the place but fortunately i misjudged the crowd who went pretty mental, even more so when we stopped the music to announce one of the band had been dragged out of the DJ booth in a choke hold and we wouldn't play until the crowd made enough of a ruckus - it worked and the bouncers let him back in. And what can i say to Mr Temple Morris describing my set as "a revelation"!? All in all not a bad night plus we got a dvd of ross almost puking on the bungee ride outside.













Saturday:

Most of what was now left of the party were out for the count after the majority wound up at Manumission hanging out with various rubber nurses and Zane Lowe and ignoring the fact that Saturday night's plane ride home was in turn going to be a hell-ride. Prior to that there's a stop off at a beachside restaurant where the boys got chatting with Skin from Skunk Anansie who i think has retired from indie pop to live full time in Ibiza. Tucking in to a hunk of bream I was instantly put off as i realised we were surrounded by leathery old men with their silicon ex-trophy wives and girlfriends, particularly as one giant fella with a semi pony tail of greying locks on top of his head straddled his shammy-skinned strumpet as the soundtrack of mortgaged house urged us to eat up and get the hell out of this one horse town.

A 9pm ride saw us to the airport on the dubiously decked out tour bus and we blew a final kiss goodbye to our new friend Dizzy then found we were stuck at the airport til 1am. Then 1:40... the etc etc... finally arriving back at Gatwick at gone 4 in the morning, the group disbanded to their various destinations as i snapped pictures of Kai racing a family who despite almost running over their own daughter continued to defy the signs saying do not ride on the trolleys.

I had a brief debate about religion and faith with my taxi driver then hit the sack before 6 realising I'd badly burnt my knees and ankles.

Not long back from the Big Chill and feeling a little messed up from the drive and regularly interrupted sleep. We almost cheated the rain and JC & myself managed to get in 3 hours of heavy skanking Trojan goodness beforehand. It was an honour to be one of the last acts on at the festival though i was a little gutted to be missing Jerry Dammers Spatial AKA being pretty gay for dammers and Sun Ra but it's a small price to pay for the wicked crowd we got to play to til 1am this morning - oh and sorry for the colourful language on the mic - i've had my hand slapped for that one too many times now. A large up to everyone who was there at the dubshack - hit me up here if u were down for this...









and almost forgot, quick shouts need to go out to Count Skylarkin looking a little sketchy as we left him early monday morning, LJ Kruzer for playing a beautiful set with his crutches perched by the side of his microkorg, Russel Kone-R, Andy Digitonal, Mixmaster Morris - cheers for playing my dubs if u happen to be reading, Tom & Rob behind the scenes at the dubshack and of course JC and the Trojan posse for getting me down in the first place. And how could i forget emma the hotty/roadie? (even if she did stroll off to use the internet mid set). xxx