Club News

Clubs? This weekend? Alright.

Clubs, take two. Clubs, take two. Clubs, take two. Clubs, take two.

Okay, beach-flies. Some truly hexagonal dope, on this weekend at the bop-sheds and flash tunnels. Right? Oh, no, no it’s ridiculous. Right.

Loads of noise breaking out over Yorkshire, mainly due to DJ Amil-Rightmate, featuring some nice trad-garage at the Salty Gob in Leeds. He uses guns by the way, and there’s no floor in the club at all.

Bit of a clash in Hull, with the Fabattoire and the Bauble right next door to each other. At the Fab, it’s the Comical Beggars, with two nervous guitarists doing strum and bass, while the Baub have DJ Guts, featuring the classic sounds of the seventh of January nineteen ninety-eight. I’ll always remember going absolutely bald to that brilliant Sister Wendy remix of My Fly Had Puppies by Borborygmus. But back to now. It’s Seven for Tore night at the Fassybender in Cardiff. So that’ll be just those three geezers again, and that one lady if she turns up, each paying two hundred pounds on the door, and each, I have to say, ignoring the other three, and acting like they owned the place, and it was their home, and they were watching television on a Wednesday.

Ooh! Oh! Ah! Ooh, sorry, I’m still getting flashbacks from new year, when I saw Keith Flint being rushed to hospital, after claiming he could eat sodium. What a classic flourish! Saturday at the Vag in Glasgow, an all nighter with DJ Boiled Mouse. Ah, yes, making that creepy wisp of a noise, and expecting people to dance? Come on! By half ten, he’s always in a tizz, claiming no-one understands him, and by midnight, he’s usually being fished out of a nearby canal, after another failed attempt to snuff his very naff little candle. So if you do go to that, leave the bollock to drown.

Hey, Portishead, when you play live, how about some strip-hop? Boozy girl naked. Very pleasant.

At the Tube of Toothpaste in Reading, it’s another fat lip all-nighter. Huge discounts if you let the bouncers lamp you on the way in, with DJ Lemsip and Catatonies Cerys ironing beans in the background. Nicely understated, that. Like a bomb made out of jazz and feathers. Last time I was there, I spent quite a lot of time in the knob-out room.

And finally, at the Loaded Knife in Brixton, entrance is free if you turn up with a haircut. DJ Micro-climate churns out tons of little geat. They’ve got a couple of old sea lions there to test your drugs on, but make sure you know what an off-colour sea lion looks like. And I’m told at 6am, there’s a break in the music that lasts until June 15th, when the show will reconvene for a further five minutes.

Right? Oh, no, no it’s ridiculous. Right. I’m off to the Jumping Up And Down in Camden, where it’s Edd Styrton night, to the beat of some steaming glass and midriff. Ooh, oily-oh-boily! will I be some fresh jazzkill by three.

Night-night, chow-heads.