<0> I was wanking hard over the thought of Lisa Pin-Up, Annie Mack and Tania Volcano in a cross-genre, hardcore, lesbian threesome on the famous Room 1 dance floor at Club Fabric whilst Miss Kittin played a special topless vocal set back-to-back with Deniz Kurtel.
Ten minutes later, with a clear view of my world, I sat naked at the writing desk and crushed up a couple of ecstasy E tablets under my Nectar Card. I wondered how on Earth I was supposed to extend the reach of my blog beyond the, however loyal, utterly mindless and immature male 18 - 24 demographic I've entertained for so long. I decided there and then, and there again, that I would only write about personal debasement if the anecdote relates to dance music and was written from the bottom of my heart. Know what I mean?
<0> I know more than anyone else how difficult long train journeys can be. I travel to and from WRDMHQ every day on the London Underground, I travel to at least four nightclubs a week all over the country in the name of dance music and I sometimes visit my family in the midlands. Unless you're pissed, have a funny magazine to read or are sat opposite somebody fit, hanging about on a train can be a MASSIVE fucking brain drain.
Over the last few weeks I've developed a secret train game that is fun, harmless and won't get you arrested for indecent assault anymore. All you need is at least one eye, a valid ticket for travel, an iPod Nano and a decent continuous mix to listen to. Look around your carriage in between stations whilst listening to Fabric 66 and pretend that you're actually in the stairwell of your favourite nightclub at about 3.45am. Everyone has the same, deadly serious middle-distance stare, some are gurning, couples chat enthusiastically and others have their eyes closed, tunneling their own sweet path to Paradise.
Since inventing this game I've not seen ANYONE on the Central line or Jubilee line that doesn't look fucking spannered. The only people who ruin it are the commuters who read and play computer games.
<0> I keep seeing people walking around wearing t-shirts with the words, NERD and GEEK written on them. Are they asking to have their fucking lights put out or what? Where I went to school we'd round up the nerds and geeks at lunchtime, take their dinner money and make them throw their own shoes at each other.
I'm not being funny but you don't want to be advertising yourself in that way. Wear t-shirts that say, COCK OF THE ESTATE or MASSIVE DAD and watch the dickheads like me avoid you.
<0> A loyal WRDMist on Facebook called Sam asked me yesterday to do a piece on the Boutiquefication of dance music and how you go to a club these days and its just middle class white hipsters taking pictures of each other with the latest iPhone. He wanted to know where the fucking roughness was at? Sam said that you would never have guessed house music originated with black working class queers getting wasted in Chicago sleaze pits.
Whilst I find it hard to argue with Sam on this based on personal anecdotal evidence in London, I would ask him to take a trip to House of God in Birmingham and watch with horror at the fat, middle-aged, working class men and women licking whizz off of one another's palms and sniffing vats of poppers all night whilst Surgeon pummels the fuck out of them.
<0> Simon Elvins is a dear, dear friend of mine and was kind enough to sort me out with an all above board copy of Ableton 9 Live Suite that he said fell off the back of a lorry. Now that I'm back up and running with Ableton I can get back to work on my minimal hard house tracks and the very first edition of WRDMFM - the podcast series I'm writing, producing and starring in with Draper and Micky John.
Do stay tuned.
I'll be back soon, probably this week, with more dance music news and reviews. Keep your lids peeled and carry on throwing me around the internet like stale bread in a duck pond.
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