Tuesday, 26 January 2016

The best DJ you've (probably) never heard of #5. Laurent Richard aka DJ Sundae.

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Well I've somewhat serendipitously had my hand forced on this one. I had been planning to write something about this guy for a while now but seeing as he's only recently recorded the latest installment in the ever excellent Edwin mixED series I figured I may as well put this out now. I've posted a couple of Laurent Richard aka DJ Sundae's mixes and radio shows over the last couple of years in the TOLAS Facebook group but as I say, had been intending on doing a small focus piece on him for some time.
Laurent, as well as being an ace DJ he also runs a little label with Ed Lacan called Hollie Records. To date they`ve released music from Chilean Psyche folk artist Ocelote Rojo, Disco Rock Japanese band Phnom Penh (including a stella turn on the edit from Dr Dunks), and unearthed material from Arthur Russell and Steven Hall (as Nirosta Steel). But more than a crate digger, he is a digger, a certifiable gold digger which anyone who's listened to his 'I'm A Cliché: No Weapon Is Absolute' show on Rinse France which he co-hosts with Cosmo Vitelli can attest to. He's also released several psyche-folk, disco-rock on Hollie Records and put two pop-folk compilations together for the uber cool Sessùn clothing label and one for the Colette store. He is currently preparing a new compilation with Julien Dechery for the label of the guys behind one of my very favourite mix series' the wonderfully wide ranging 'Noise In My Head'. Anyhow, do your ears a favour and have a listen to the mix below then go to his Soundcloud page and listen some more. You will NOT be disappointed.


Till next time.
Big love. Mark. X

Tuesday, 19 January 2016

Man who sang the Ghost Buster's song admits that he was actually 'afraid of ghosts'!

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Earlier this week, the TOLAS staff received a telephone call from a man named Derek Grindle, a 53 year old man from Walker, Newcastle who told us he had “something important to say.”

"Yea, truth is,” he stated “I was afraid. I was reet, reet, reet, REET, REET, FUCKIN' afraid of them ghosts. Those transparent bastards were all owa the gaff. Touchin' me an' all sorts!”

Mr Grindle affirms that he reached the peak of his career in the 80's, when he was bribed into a recording studio and forced to say “I ain't afraid of no ghost” into a microphone. “Aye it was a normal day for me, I was headed home from a day on the piss and Karaoke in The Garter to feed my dogs and this trendy lookin' fella came up to me and was all like “Whats ya name like, kidda?”
- “Ah'm Decka, Decka Grindle.” And then he asked iz:
-“Yee be interested in mekin' some cash and having a role in a major motion picture?” To which I replied:
-“Wey aye! Why the fuck not.”
So then the trendy geezer puts me in a fancy black car like the ones where there's a driver and you get to sit in the back and he takes me to this fancy movie studio, like the ones you imagine in the pictures but this was real life but also in the pictures cause they wa mekin' pictures in there and they had all kinds of shite, like props n that getin' shifted aboot all owa. Like houses that they wheeled aroond, but they wasn't the whole house just the front of the house and the back was just cardboard like...one dimensional things ye knaa. Anyway, then they put in me a recording booth and they turn the light off and that's when I start seein' them fuckin' ghosts man! They wa green and that. Smelled like farts and shite. And they tell me “OK Decka you're deein' great” and they just kept repeating that “Ya alreet, hew. Deein' great” and I was like "Wey ner! These arseholes are easy to please. I haven't even done owt yet and i'm deein' great?? Daft cunts. I can get used to this." But then that's when I started shittin' mesel. Hyperventilating n stuff. It all sunk in and I wanted to get the fuck oot of there. So I started screamin me tits off cause I was purely flappin' like. There was like a cree full of dead souls and they was slithering aaaaall owa the fucking place and touchin iz and that. Anyways so now it's just me and the ghosts and then the gadge that picked me off the street says “Reet! We just need you to say “I am not afraid of any ghosts” So that's when I thought, here man this isn't right, this isn't one bit right at fuckin' aaall, yi knaa why? CAUSE THAT'S EXACTLY THE OPPOSITE OF WHAT I'M FEELING RIGHT NOW. I AM AFRAID OF FUCKIN GHOSTS!
So I telt him. I telt him loud and clear how afraid of ghosts I was and that I wanted him to get me the fuck oot of  that cabin. Long story short the man says to me “Mr. Grindle. If ye want ya money, then get reet close to that fuckin' microphone and say the words “I am not afraid of ghosts” right fucking now, hew!" So, at that point I reckoned it was better to pull the plaster off quick rather than a little bit at a time cause it ends up hortin' more that way cause ya pullin oot a bunch of hairs. But I wasn't ganna let that scum bag tek the piss so that's when I said what he wanted me to say but I changed it a little bit ye knaa? And so that's when I thought to myself that I'm ganna put my own spin on it so instead of saying “I am not afraid of ghosts” I said “I ain't afraid of no ghosts” and then someone shouted “CUT. WE GOT IT.” They opened the door and the ghosts fucked off straight away and they put iz on the number 1 to Heaton. Cut to a year or so later and  I hear it on the fuckin radio n that. It's called the Ghost Busta'z song. Non other than mesel saying words in a major motion picture!”

We asked Mr. Grindel what led him to come out and tell his side of the story, to which he answered, “Nee comment.”

Interview by Derek-Upon-Tweed.
Artwork from Chester Drawers.

Sunday, 17 January 2016

Buzz Aldrin: Space Bastard.

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July 20, 1969, was a triumphant day for mankind. On that day Neil Armstrong and I landed on the Moon, and the human race took its first steps towards the stars. Planting my nation’s flag on that new frontier remains my proudest moment. And when I touched the gleaming surface of the mysterious obelisk we discovered, it felt like touching the face of God.
The world watched it all through images broadcast across nearly a quarter of a million miles. I was considered a hero then. But my legacy was tarnished by the events of my last space mission, the Apollo-Soyuz flight of 1975, the mission that would see me branded as a space murderer.
That space flight was meant to promote US-Soviet cooperation. Instead, it ended in tragedy. I understand that shortly after leaving the atmosphere I seized the controls and attempted to direct the spacecraft towards the Moon. When my co-pilot tried to stop me, I killed him using a powerful space hammer.
This is what they tell me. In truth, I have no memory of the incident. All I can recall is hearing a deafening hum and seeing a vision of the obelisk. It was calling to me from across the void. I woke up back on Earth, in a specially-constructed prison for space criminals. I still cannot account for my actions. The most likely explanation is that I had contracted food poisoning from a bad batch of astronaut ice cream.
Regardless, that was many years ago. I’ve long since paid my debt to society. I’m a poor, lonely old man now, sitting in a shack in the desert with my thousands of sketches of the obelisk. And I’m asking NASA to send me back to space.
It would surely be good publicity for NASA if they sent an old man into space like in the popular film Space Cowboys. And it would be good for me too, as I would finally be freed from this squalid hell planet. There’s little risk of me committing another space murder. There is no anger left in me. I’m just a humble old man who will stop at nothing to return to the Moon.
I hope readers will take pity on me, and write to NASA on my behalf. Or better yet, ask NASA director Reinhold Peterson in person. I’d do it myself but I’m no longer allowed within 200 ft of his house. Here’s what you should do: Come to my shack. I’ll give you an old space helmet to wear, and a golf club.
You’ll arrive at Peterson’s house at 2 a.m. You can break in through the back window, which is poorly secured. Find Peterson in his bedroom. Hit him with the golf club. Tell him that Buzz Aldrin must be allowed to return to the Moon, to return to the obelisk, to enter celestial communion with a being that is older than the stars and learn its cosmic secrets. Then hit him again, hit him until he understands. Thank you, and God bless.

Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin was the second man on the Moon and is a convicted space criminal.

Monday, 11 January 2016

Goodbye, Dave. X

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I woke up this morning to find that my mate, Dave had passed away.
Dave was an icon whose music and life had a huge influence on mine as well as the lives of countless others. It was his birthday a few days ago. He was 69. This wasn't supposed to happen.
Dave had represented the future of music, fashion, and celebrity for half a century. Leaping from London to New York, Berlin, and Mars, dragging the sound of the world behind him like a traveller strutting through the airport with a packed rolling suitcase. He was a spiritual liberator, a chameleon who unlocked the door for freaks everywhere and made a perfect lodestar for a world wrangling with ideas about identity. He was always unusual, not least because he defied 'Englishness' - not making a fuss, not standing out - by making theatre out of his body and his incredible face. Thin, androgynous, dressed in otherworldly clothes and make-up, Dave was extraordinary. One eye appeared to be a different colour from the other, the legacy of a childhood school fight. His voice was striking, a quavering, uncanny instrument warbling as through the aether. He was unafraid in both art and life. A life which was lived at, sometimes a blisteringly intense pitch. But he had cancer.
Dave was my best mate for 43 years. Although he never knew it.
See you later, Dave.
Love, Mark. X

Friday, 8 January 2016

Thoughts On Love & Smoking podcast #6. Nando Vazquez & Mutado Pintado (Paranoid London/LDDLM)

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"If you like your music melodic, deep, well-made & produced,,,,, you should probably jog on,"
And so reads the press release for Paranoid London's debut album. That statement should give you an idea of the no-fucks-given attitude driving the this outfit. Providing a beer stained and possibly piss stained alternative to glossy house music with rugged acid tracks and intense, fragmented chanting forming the core of their live show. At the center of this maelstrom, looking suitably at home amongst all this is vocalist Mutado Pintado.

In an industry which thrives on the use of multiple faceless, interchangeable frontmen/singers his beguiling delivery of off-the cuff spoken monologues that reimagine LCD Soundsystem’s droll tirades as an amphetamine infused Mark E. Smith, stand out proud and very, VERY LOUD.
By all accounts he's a very busy guy, dividing his time between a number of projects as well as Paranoid London such as helming 'Warmduscher' alongside Saul and Jack of Fat White Family, doing lead vocalis in 'Save' with Colder's Marc Nguyen Tan while working diligently on his solo projects. Most recently releasing the killer 'Lazy Boy' 12" on Ivan Smagghe's uber underground 'Les Disques De La Morte' imprint.

‘Eclectic‘ is one of those overused words that musos love to hate, but it would be hard to describe last years Mutado Pintado solo album without letting that pesky adjective sneak in here and there.
Ranging from Hip Hop to Indie to Garage Rock with Pop overtones and Electronica, the rather clinically named ‘336 W 17th ST‘ is as multifaceted as it’s hard to describe – a musical journey through New York City‘s underbelly, peppered with potholes, traffic jams, muggings, drug deals and U-turns. Both figuratively and literally.
A music marketeer’s worst nightmare due to it's stylistic fluidity as well as the feeling that it doesn't really seem like Pintado gives a flying fuck about marketing flaws, it's scuzzy walls of sound crescendo into a soundtrack for a panic attack, but on the flipside we get moments of real heart, as you can see in the video for ‘The Tick‘. You can stream the record over on Soundcloud and buy it, as well as his other solo work, on his Bandcamp page.

Anyhow, lets get onto the nuts and bolts of the operation and talk about the mix! I've been digging on Mutado's gear for a few years now and one of the beauty's of doing these podcasts is being able to ask the people who's music you REALLY enjoy to share it with us. Now as much as I like to sit and listen to 2 hours of seamlessly mixed trendy electronica sometimes I want to hear a mix where The Jan Hammer Group rub shoulders with The Butthole Surfers while The Fat White Family chuck stones at Lou Reed and Suicide, and THAT my friends is just the set up we have hear! Nando and Mutado have been putting out the Peasant Vitality mixtape series for a good few years now and have been favourites of mine for some time so were obviously going to be folk I wanted to feature in this podcast series and was over the moon to be able to nab them for an installment. So without further ado, I;m overjoyed to give you the brand new Peasant Valley Mixtape from Namdo Vazquez and Mutado Pintado. Turn it up LOUD! X

Till next time.
Big love. Mark. X

Wednesday, 6 January 2016

DunSfORd DoeS The StArzZ!!

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As the chimes signalling clean slates and big plans fade away into the ether, we asked ace contributor, Fat Dainel Dunsford to let us in on his resolutions and to share some thoughts for the next raft. But seeing as he is rapidly balding and has only stuck to precisely two resolutions ever (the first was to not do the ironing and the other was to stop saving clothes for best) we thought it best he just did his usual job and cast his mystic eye over what influence the planets have on us over the coming month. Regarde,,,,,

Aquarius: All your Koi carp have died from being fed Wotsits. This might leave you vulnerable to joining Isis. Find a hobby. Zumba is popular with the general public.

Pisces: Your contact lens has slid down the back of your eye and is resting on your frontal lobe, causing flashbacks to traumatic events. Specsavers: 0208 3724587.

Aries: Your Mooncup has become lodged in your friend’s U-bend. Extract it immediately or risk ruining their housewarming.

Taurus: George Galloway will cut you up on the M6 today. Comfort yourself with the fact that he lost his seat in Bradford West.

Gemini: Your persistent fracking will cause an earthquake. Look into more environmentally friendly methods of drilling for oil.

Cancer: You might want to freeze some eggs in case your ideal man never turns up. Remember: most people your age are married by now.

Leo: You suspect your phone is being hacked. You are mistaken. Nobody gives a shit about you or your life.

Virgo: Weirdoes find you irresistible. You’ve always dismissed them in the past. Maybe give one a chance, as all the normal people are now taken.

Libra: You’re thinking about getting a St Bernard but consider the size of his stools before taking the plunge.

Scorpio: You will suffer an electric shock while repairing your toaster, causing you to miss an episode of MasterChef. Hopefully a neighbour will be around to prod you away with a wooden stick.

Sagittarius: Your production of Swan Lake is tired and unoriginal. Why you gave up a well-paid job in advertising to concentrate on shit like this is beyond me.

Capricorn: Time to get your moles checked. That one on your back in the shape of Africa has developed a sinister crust.

Till next time.
Keep it squanchy. Dunsfired. X