Thursday, 26 August 2010

Any excuse...


For those of you who don't know, Bill Brewster is a DJ, Author and is partly responsible for the infinitely superior website

Bill also wrote "Last Night A DJ Saved My Life", which is possibly the most comprehensive account of the history of the DJ available (as well as simply being a great read) and he's currently set to release his next book (penned alongside Frank Broughton) "The Record Players", which (to quote the man himself) "is a collection of some of the best interviews with DJs we've done over the years (nearly 50 in total), all bound together in a lovely book, with loads of charts, discographies and groovy shizzle".

Bill has kindly put together an offer for readers of this blog to get two quid off the price of the book if you buy it from


All you need to do is put WEATHERALL into the coupon box when you buy the book on their site (offer is valid till the end of Sept)


On top of this, Bill has also given us the opportunity to present one of the interviews from his new book, featuring Tourist Pin-Up ANDREW WEATHERALL.

and here it is...

Inspired as much by ’50s rockabilly legend Mac Curtis as the deep house of Mac Thornhill, Andrew Weatherall bequeathed us one of the finest albums of the modern era in Screamadelica. In a variety of subsequent guises he went on to produce everything from coruscating techno made for shirts-off German nutters to delicate ambient music perfect for Café Del Mar, and his DJ sets are as notoriously wide and eclectic as his productions. Weatherall started his DJing career as the bloke with weird records booked to play in second rooms or late on in the proceedings. After regular appearances at early acid club Shoom he found himself suddenly in demand, and at gigs where he was expected to actually make people dance. Working in a Windsor clothes shop by day, by night he’d be either DJing or venting his spleen in the pages of Boy’s Own, the fanzine he started with local chums Terry Farley, Cymon Eckel and Steve Mayes.

Tell me something about growing up and your musical interests as a kid.
I was brought up in the suburbs in Windsor and my grandparents lived in Slough. It was suburban but it wasn’t too far away, so I could go on raiding parties. I’d jump on a train and in an hour I’d be in London. The great thing about that is you don’t take it for granted. You may even have a couple of months to assimilate what you’ve seen and heard and done. Sometimes when you live in London, you get blasé, it washes over you a little bit. So living in suburbia you had chance to discuss the skirmishes you’d been involved with, which is what I really liked.

So what would a typical trip be then?
I’d save up and then I’d probably go to Kensington Market to a rockabilly shop. I’d go to World’s End. I’d do any number of jobs and save up so I could go into town and buy records from the Cage in Beaufort Market in the Kings Road which was the first shop that sold post-punk records, apart from Rough Trade. It was a pop culture thing: clothes, records, haircut, and tattoos!

What did you do for jobs when you left school?
First job I had was a furniture porter for an old school shop called Pyle Brothers. They had no lifts and they had a storeroom on the third floor and they’d buy up bankrupt stock and us four had to unload articulated lorries full of Chesterfields and take them up three flights of stairs. At this time I’d just discovered amphetamine sulphate as well so I was a tad wiry and more than willing to start some sort of fracas on a Friday night. Loads of jobs. My last job was a stagehand building film sets. It was around 1988. I’d work on a film set for a couple of weeks and I was beginning to DJ a bit and there was a bit of dilemma: do I start DJing properly? And I’d been offered a job abroad with this set company and in the end I didn’t go because they let me down at the last minute. So if I’d have gone on that trip I probably wouldn’t be sitting talking to you now.

Did you see music as an escape from what you’d been doing?
Not really. It was literally, here’s a chance to make some money. I like to have money to buy clothes. I thought I’d give the DJing a go. But even when ‘Loaded’ [by Primal Scream] came out I remember going for a job interview at London Records to be a record plugger or A&R man or something. I still thought it was the latest way to make some money. It felt like another stop-gap. It’s the same as the Rolling Stones reflecting on how they started, ‘Oh we thought it’d be over in 18 months!’ That’s how I felt. I’d plough on in my direction and things seem to turn out alright.

When did you first get interested in DJing, what made you want to become one?
It was only quite recently that I considered myself a DJ. I started collecting records when I was 12 or 13 years old and whenever there was a get-together I would be asked, ‘Bring your records,’ when everyone else was more interested in copping off and drinking party sevens. The next step was, ‘Get that bloke with the weird record collection to play some music.’ That was a couple of years before Shoom. The same happened at the birth of acid house: ‘Call that bloke with the weird records to play at six in the morning.’
I just had that sort of joy I had when I was 11 or 12. I’ve had the experience of hearing this for the first time and now it’s your turn. I was just playing records, I wasn’t skilled. I was playing such varied music you couldn’t mix it.
But then because my name started to get associated with Shoom, Spectrum and things like that, people would book me without really hearing what I did. They probably booked me so they could put ‘Shoom’ in brackets. So I was getting booked to play main spots and going down like the proverbial turd in the salad because I’d be playing weird music at six in the morning. So I had to incorporate more and more house and disco tracks and learn how to mix. My first pair of record decks were bought by a record company I did a mix for. I did the sleevenotes for some Italo-disco compilation and my payment was a set of decks. It was about 1990. So it was a gradual progression until about five or six years ago I kind of realised I was a DJ.
But the thing that probably attracts you is that evangelism of finding interesting stuff and playing it to people.
Yeah, but without straying into righteous zeal territory! You know what I mean? It’s almost as good a feeling looking in someone’s eyes and seeing their joy of discovery; it’s almost like re-living your own joy of discovery. In a way it’s a little bit selfish. Although you’re sharing stuff, a good part of it is for your own gratification. There’s a little bit of selfishness back ’cos you want that feeling back that you’ll never get again. It’s a bit desperate really! [laughs].

There’s also a certain amount of ego involved because it’s obviously quite exciting to play records to people. Was that an attractive thing?
Not to start with because a lot of times the DJ was only one step above bottle washer. It was only when people were so desperate for heroes that they thought DJs would be good ones. I’ll be honest with you, I did fall for it hook, line and sinker because being such a music fan and buying the NME and music magazines, and all of a sudden you find yourself in them, well it can turn a man’s head. I did go a bit silly for a number of years. Then you throw the obvious drug into the equation as well, which is super-duper ego-expanding powder and yeah, you do get sucked in. I don’t sympathise with people on that star trip but I can empathise with them. You’re living in lala-land and people are coming up to you every day and saying how great you are. Hold on a minute, are we so desperate for heroes that we’re going to have DJs for heroes? That’s not right, it should be something a bit more substantial than that.

How did it affect you personally?
Well without going into too much detail, it affected relationships on every level from friends to girlfriend. Just general everyday dealings with human beings. I was a bit arrogant. To be honest, some of that was a defence mechanism. I’d been told I was the best thing since sliced bread and in the back of my mind was this feeling that all these people would find me out. Someone’s gonna go, ‘Look he’s not wearing any clothes!’ So partly the arrogance was to put up a wall because of my insecurity. But it’s part of getting older, really. The artistic world is full if insecure people and I was just one of them. You get older and become more self-aware. It’s nice that people come up and say nice things about what you’ve done. But you know, sometimes I think I’d rather people think I had a shit back catalogue but thought I was a decent human being.

What were your first musical passions?
Fifties rock and roll and glam rock, without a doubt. It was about the time the film That’ll Be The Day came out. I would’ve been 11 or 12. They had these adverts on the cinema and there was ‘Poetry in Motion’ by Johnny Tillotson, ‘Runaway’ by Del Shanonn, ‘Johnny Remember Me’ [by John Leyton], all those kind of things. Look, I’m getting goose bumps talking about it! It sounded like music from another planet. Coupled with a film about blokes on bumper cars with leopard skin drape suits and David Bowie on Top Of The Pops.
It’s the classic kid in the suburbs. I had a nice upbringing but it was a bit dull. That was like a gateway to a parallel universe. Then a few years later punk came along, then post-punk business, rockabilly revival. Yeah, and I’ve been on every bandwagon since! [laughs].

How did you meet the Boy’s Own lot then?
Well I lived in Windsor and they lived in Slough and it was that classic suburban thing of people meeting at the one decent clothes shop. Can’t remember what it was called offhand but this guy Johnny Rocca worked there. I met Gary Haisman and Terry Farley there. We used to go to the same sort of discos. Cymon [Eckel] lived there as well. I was really hanging out a lot with Cymon and another guy called Phil Goss, who now lives in Italy. Every Friday, pre-acid house, we used to meet up at 9 o’clock and drop a tab of acid, which is where that post-punk compilation I did for Nuphonic got its name from [9 O’clock Drop]. Then we headed into town and went to Le Beat Route or Mud Club or something like that. I gradually got to know Terry over those years going to clubs.

When you started Boy’s Own, what was it? Was it a club or a magazine or what?
It was a magazine first. Terry was enthralled with The End. His words at the time, ‘If fuckin’ scousers can do it then I’m sure we can!’ or some such pep talk. And we did. It was Pritt sticks and cutting things out on my coffee table.

Were you aware of The End?
Yeah I’d seen it; I knew exactly what he was talking about. I wasn’t into football. [Steve] Mayesy and all that lot, they were into football and they’d get these things from football and I totally got what he was saying. So it was like, let’s give it a go.

What stuff were you reading at the time?Well I can’t remember exactly but it would probably involve Camus and Kafka and the usual kind of youthful follies. I was and still am a Joseph Conrad fan. I just saw it as a chance for expression and I’d be able to write about music. It’s a fanzine, so it doesn’t have to be particularly current, you’ve got nobody’s product to push so you can be quite abstract. I was the Outsider (his pseudonym in Boy’s Own)

Why did you call your column The Outsider?Because I was a bolshie little bastard! I always wanna be in a gang but then I don’t wanna be. I want the best of both of worlds. So I thought I’d be able to write a sarky piece deconstructing or taking the piss out of everything you’re about to read about. I wanted to have my cake and eat it I suppose.

Is that a theme that runs through your whole career?I’m totally like that. I wanna be accepted but get annoyed when I am. Groucho Marx said, ‘I wouldn’t want to be a member of any club that accepted me as a member.’

How did the ideas come about for Boy’s Own?It was literally what anyone had listened to that week or read or what had happened. After acid house kicked in it became the village paper for the acid house scene. There was only two or three clubs! There were pictures of parties where only 2-300 people had been. It was very insular. After a couple of years, John Brown Publishing offered us national distribution and we were like it’s pointless, cos people’ll just think, ‘Silly Cockney cunts.’ It would have appeared too cliquey. Obviously people from up north did buy it but they were people that came to the parties. It would have been like making a parochial local newspaper and then selling it throughout the British Isles. It wouldn’t work.

How do you feel about it now? It’s still revered and a lot of it is still funny.
Yeah, but I don’t actually own a copy. There was a certain point – on too many ecstasies – that I gave away most of my possessions, you know what I mean? Most of my test pressings, acetates and everything: ‘Yeah, go on, I love you!’ [laughs] I’ve seen bits of it and I think it’s alright but there are a bits that I find a bit embarrassing and a bit un self-aware but other people might think were really funny. If you looked back at some of the stuff you wrote 20 years ago you’d probably think the same.

And throw the vernacular of acid house into the equation as well!

And the drugs.Yeah. It’s a good, unpretentious document of those times I think. It would be pretty essential in years to come for people researching the birth of acid house. I’d say it was a jolly good read for historical purposes but for entertainment purposes it would be very dated.

What bound all of you lot together?
A common love of going out and all that that entailed. The music, the clothes, what happened afterwards when you discussed things like books, art, it was the whole social scene that generations before us had had. I just wanted my scene. I was a bit too young for punk. So it was kind of my thing. Again it’s that thing I wanted to part of a scene but didn’t want nobody to understand! It was that again.

What about places like the Mud Club.Well it was good, the dressing up was fun but there didn’t seem to be any kind of scene although I suppose there was: it was new romantic, what Robert Elms called ‘The Scene With No Name’. Actually what it was like is what’s it’s like round here now [Shoreditch], a weird mish mash of rockabilly and punk. No one’s quite sure. You’d go to a gig in the mid ’80s and there’d be rockabillies, goths and there’s that kind of feel now. While they’re looking for something new they’re pillaging what’s gone on in the past.

Is it less tribal now?
As I see it, I live in London’s fashionable Shoreditch so I’d go, ‘No, it’s like one great big village!’ But if I lived on some estate in the north of England where there’s a big divide between say, casuals and goths... Some goth kid was killed by kids off an estate recently so it’s all very well for me to say it’s all fine but you can’t get any more tribal than people killing each other.

What effect do you think acid house has had?
It helped push music technology forward. Everyone said it had a great social effect, I don’t really think it did. The biggest effect it had was the push and development of music hardware, firstly, and then software. Kids were going out and hearing these records and wanting to make them themselves. I would imagine those that went to those early clubs ended up, a good proportion of them, being involved in music technology. That lit the blue touchpaper for where we are now, where we can sit here and make tracks on our laptops. That’s what acid house did. It had a few momentary social consequences, like the poll tax riots and the club laws, but it was only made political by the press.

Do you not think, unconsciously at least, it was political: the idea of reclaiming and remaking communities?
To a certain extent, but a lot of that community was fuelled by ecstasy. It was there and I don’t want to downplay it, and I don’t want come across as a curmudgeon. It was the same with the ’60s; it was a bit of false dawn. It affected people’s lives but it didn’t usher in a new Age of Aquarius! [laughs]. It really didn’t. It depends on whether you want to see breaking into a building and dancing as a political act. It was just another strand, another part of London and Manchester discos.

What effect did punk have on you when it happened? How old were you?
I was 13 in 1976. I remember the day after the Sex Pistols were on Today [with Bill Grundy], I had shoulder length hair and I remember sitting in the barbers and pointing to a picture of them in the papers and saying, ‘Chop all me hair off!’ You can’t describe it to younger people. People thought it was the end of civilisation. It was like bomb going off, especially in suburban England. It frightened my parents to death. My dad was a bit of a reprobate himself, he wasn’t totally square, but this was just ridiculous. It really put the fear in people. Anything that scares the old folk is good. That’s why I’m covered in tattoos. When I was a kid my parents were so against them they thought they were evil, so I gravitated towards them. It’s the way youth culture works.

Did you see any parallels between punk and acid house?
Briefly, when it hit the papers, but that was more to do with the fact that it was so drug fuelled. It wasn’t the politics or nihilism or against society like punk was. It was the accoutrements that they were against.

For you personally did it have any resonance?
Not really, no. I was always a bit of a confused person. I liked punk but I liked disco music, so the two were always separate. So acid house was the development of my disco side, it wasn’t a development of the more political and more abstract musical side. It was a revolution in my disco world rather than my political world.

So did you have compartmentalised little worlds that you dipped in and out of.
Well yeah really! I never got that thing that disco sucked when punk was going on, because I knew all the originals were bored soulboys who used to go to Chaguarama’s. That’s where you got dressed up. You could go to weekenders dressed like Bryan Ferry or David Bowie and you wouldn’t be hassled. It’s like that early thing John Lydon said: punk was all about selling trousers! Sorry everybody, it was primarily a London fashion thing. It was bored soulboys and people going to gay discos and wearing mohair jumpers and plastic sandals. Sorry Conflict, GBH and Crass, it was a London trouser thing! [laughs]

Do you think the superstar DJ thing was a betrayal of the whole acid house ethos?
I’ve looked at certain DJs and thought, ‘Fuck, I’m gonna give this up.’ I’m not gonna say who but I’ve been to see some high end DJs and there’s times I’ve come out and I’ve been embarrassed to say that I’m a DJ. I could’ve been that person if I’d carried on a certain route. It’s probably part of myself I don’t like, rather than them. Anything I get angry with in the music industry is often because I don’t want to be reminded of the person I was.

Do you think the scene is in a better state now the superstar thing has deflated?
It’s still there.

Well it is but it’s more fluid than it was.
I think kids have got wise to the fact that you need better heroes than DJs. Even Pete Doherty’s a better hero than Judge Jules, let’s be honest, and Pete Doherty’s a bit ropey. DJs should be heard and not seen, really. That thing where you’re playing [indicates on high] and people are looking at you… it’s not what it’s about. I like Moodymann and playing behind a screen.
That actually accentuates everything!

Yeah you’re right. You still need that contact, but you don’t need to be bathed in light, you don’t need to be the centre of attention.
I think kids have got wise to the fact that you need better heroes than DJs. Even Pete Doherty’s a better hero than Judge Jules, let’s be honest, and Pete Doherty’s a bit ropey.

How important is mystique in music?
Very important. I was always drawn to the fact I’d never seen a picture of Martin Hannett or Adrian Sherwood. It was years before I saw a picture of either. That added a little bit more substance to things. When I first started I didn’t want to use my real first name and I refused to be photographed for years. The first photo shoot I did I wore a medicine hat and a big pair of glasses and a scarf. Anton LeVay was the head of the Church of Satan in San Francisco and he used to play organ in burlesque and strip shows in the 1940s and there’d be a room full of guys watching someone almost naked, but if a woman wearing a pencil skirt walked in every head in the place would turn because they want what’s hidden. I’m with Anton on that! [laughs]

What makes a good DJ?
It can be as simple as playing good music. Good music, well programmed. Even if you’re playing wildly different music, I try and make some sort of connection or some sort of flow. I don’t like to be jarred too much. There has to be a connection, where I can see there’s some sort of thought process and not, ‘Ooh haven’t I got an eclectic record collection?’ I want to listen to something in slightly open-mouthed wonder, doesn’t matter whether it ‘s a rockabilly track or techno. Doesn’t have to be dazzlingly new. I got hooked on the idea that everything has to be new and original for while. But nothing dates quicker than a new sound. Believe it or not I’m in the Billy Childish camp. Originality is not what is important, it’s authenticity.

How did the studio work happen?
Jeff Barrett was managing me and he did Primal Scream’s press. He gave me a copy of the album. He said it was getting slated left, right and centre and I came back to him and said I loved it. So he said, ‘Why don’t you write a review for the NME?’ He wangled that so I went down to Exeter to see them play and reviewed it – the headline was ‘Sex, Lies & Gaffer Tape.’ I got on really well with them. Then I’d see them in clubs like the Future. Andrew Innes was in Spectrum one night and he said, ‘We’ve got this track and you can do what ever the fuck you like with it.’ That was ‘Loaded’. I made one attempt where I reined back a bit because I didn’t want to upset them. I played it to them and Innes said, ‘No man, fuckin’ destroy it!’ So I went back into Bart’s Studios in Walthamstow with a very talented man called Brian O’Shaughnessy who’d actually produced and engineered the original.

So you never actually worked with the band?
No, and that was pretty much how Screamadelica was made as well. I think there was only one time I got it wrong. I did a version of ‘Shine Like The Stars’ they didn’t really like and I went back in and did it again, and I’m really glad I did because it’s one of my favourite tracks on there. Obviously they’d have to do overdubs or they’d drop in to see how it was going, but I didn’t have the joy of the drummer setting up his kit or the guitarists saying, ‘I’m a bit toppy.’ Which is a working method I’ve applied: have as few musicians in for as little time as possible! Otherwise it gets very tedious.

Were they immediately happy with the results?
They might have come in and suggested things. I don’t remember really, because it was a very hazy time. It was just people hanging out and making records.
How many things had you done in the studio before?
Not a lot. Happy Mondays, East India Company, maybe St Etienne. Apparently there’s a website dedicated to this information.

What was your role?
Well, when I got the demos I knew exactly what Bob [Gillespie] had been listening to to get that song. So I would inject my approximation of that. You know, it’s weird but I was listening to ‘I’m Coming Down’ and I spoke to Bob on the phone and said, ‘For some reason I’m getting Pharaoh Sanders, the sax player, don’t ask me why.’ And he said, ‘I’ve got a Pharaoh Sanders CD in my hand at the moment!’
It was like that. Whether it was a chord progression or a vocal line, I knew exactly what the ingredients were that went into that. So I’d go into the studio and say to the engineers this is why this sounds like it does and play them Big Star or whatever and we’d build it up from that. I was the conductor, basically. ‘This is what it should sound like, I’m not sure how to do it, that’s why you’re here.’ I was learning as I was going. I knew what it wanted.
On one track I knew we needed those plastic tubes that kids swing round their heads, it was the only sound I could hear. And we did indeed have five people swinging them round in the studio! But I couldn’t have done it without Hugo Nicholson, who would hear my suggestions and say, yes but what about this? So I was open to that. So it was my blueprint even if it did get smudged. Hugo did all my early stuff till about 1994, when Sabres of Paradise started when I worked with Jagz and co.

How did Sabres come about?
Can’t remember exactly. I was looking for new people to work with and I got introduced to Jagz and Gary at Full Circle probably. And they knew of a studio in Hounslow West in this really rough council estate. It was like a room inside a room above a newsagent, so you’d never know from the outside it was a studio. There was a pub at the end of the road and the landlord had recently been put away for murdering one of his clientele! It was pretty hardcore. If anyone had known it was a studio it would have been done over in minutes.

Listening back to the music you’ve done over the years which are the tracks you’re most pleased about?
Well there are things that I’ve done and been a bit embarrassed about over the years, but then you actually hear them still being played. Often the very things that made those records work are the things I don’t like: the mistakes and the simplicity and the obviousness of them. I didn’t think about them too much when I was making them, but over the years I’ve thought about structures and so on too much. Brevity? Don’t know the meaning of the word, sir! One kitchen sink? Let’s have two or three. It’s that naivety I like but it’s that naivety that makes me go, ‘Mmm shouldn’t have had that there.’ It’s like the drum loop on ‘Loaded’, it’s ridiculous. There’s a crash on every bar! It’s a mistake but it’s one of the things that makes it.
One of the things I’ve learned about the studio is if you think about things too much it’s time to stop. I’ve had some killer tracks that I’ve noodled out of existence because you always think it’s got to have more. Last week I was going through the computer and I found 10 new tracks, basically a whole new album, really good beginnings of songs that we’d got bored with. The stuff I’m doing at the moment has a sound that’s almost similar to the early stuff. It’s closer to my vision of what I was trying to do 15 years ago. I’ve got more technical knowledge. So now I’ve got the best of both worlds, my naive approach but with a bit more technical backup. I’ve gone backwards in sound a little bit but it’s that authenticity over originality! If you do something authentically it somehow ends up sounding more original anyway.

Interviewed by Bill Brewster in London, 28.5.09


As an extra treat we've also managed to get our grubby paws on a very rare copy of one of the 50 promotional mix CD's (Nice sleeve artwork too) made by Andrew for his and Shaun Johnston's brilliant Psyche-Disco night 'A Love From Outer Space' at The Drop in Stoke Newington which continues this Thursday for it's 5th edition. Something a little bit different (as usuall) from Mr W with the mix split up into 5 different pieces. The firsty 4 being short with the 5th being almost an hour long. As ever, it's corking gear!

Download Andrew Weatheralls 'A Love From Outer Space Mix' here.

Alternative download link for Weatheralls 'ALFOS' mix here.

Remember to add us on 'Twitter' by clicking here to chuck abuse in our direction innit.

Tuesday, 17 August 2010

Mick Rolfe (Last Waltz) * Hot Under The Collar Mix.


The next in a series of rather wonderful triumphs of irresponsible organisation fom the Dada/Last Waltz crew see's them return to Newcastles Jazz Cafe on Sunday August 29th (Bank Holiday Sunday) for The Last Waltz Lock In Pt 2.
Anyone in attendance at the last party there will confirm what a great night in a truly unique little venue it was and as such they're back for part two!
Dada residents Last Waltz DJ's will be taking care of the dancefloor upstairs while we'll be keeping things a little more laid back downstairs with some dub & reggae sounds courtesy of Ben Alpin.
Capacity is limited to 150 & the last one sold out weeks in advance so for tickets you can either follow the link here or or email them at to arrange physical collection.
They'll also be having a warm-up literally 7 yards away @ The Forth from around 3pm with everyones favourite jackin' mackems 'Ward 10' soundtracking Sunday dinners & beyond.

DADA present:
The Last Waltz Lock-In: Pt 2.
@ The Jazz Cafe, Pink Lane, Newcastle
11.30pm til very late...
£7 Advance tickets only.

As a pre curser/taster to the party we here at Tourist invite you to enjoy some more brilliant music from a man with more than his fair share of mental health problems and rather limited technical ability, Last Waltz resident Mr Mick Rolfe. Mick recently supplied us with one of Tourists favourite and most downloaded mixes with his fantastic 'Alreet Summer Boys!' collection a couple of months back and his follow up won't dissapoint if you're one of the many people who raved about his last one. A tad more uptempo than the 'ASB' mix but still with the unfaltering knack to lock into a flow to kill for and this is, as to be expected, another serious bit of kit!


1. J-Walk * Following The Noughties (EastWest)
2. Axel Bauer * 24 Hours Cargo - Nico & Pierrot’s Solo-Less Redub (D-Classics)
3. Zazou Bikaye * M’Pasi Ya M’Pamba * Gilles Martin & Marc Hollander Remix (Crammed Discs)
4. Prince * Sign “O” The Times (Paisley Park)
5. Mathematiques Modernes * Jungle Hurt (Celluloid)
6. Ana Rago * You’re God - I:Cube Remix (Set)
7. Toby Tobias * The Feeling (Rekids)
8. Mark Seven * Europa (Twelve Inches Of Delight)
9. Hungry Ghost * Illuminations (International Feel)
10. 4 Hero * Hold It Down (Talkin’ Loud)
11. Space * Carry On, Turn Me On - AN2 Remix (Tirk)

Download 'Mick Rolf (Last Waltz) * Hot Under The Collar Mix.'

Till next time.
Big love. Tourist. X.

Monday, 16 August 2010

Sean Johnston (Hardway Bros) mix.


One of my very favourite mixes of recent months and an absolute masterclass in cahnging records and probably chain smoking this week from one of the UK's most consistant and forward looking DJ's and producers.

Sean Johnston has been DJ'ing since his formative years in the frozen North. Acid House Veteran, Techno Survivor, Hardway Bros, Beard Scientist and Freelance Disco Consultant, as well as being immortalised on 'The Boardrooms' brilliant 'Brother Johnstons Travelling Disco Consultancy', he's played at some of London's landmark clubs including The Promised Land, Sabresonic, Club UK, Final Frontier and Disco Bloodbath. Sean has recently been firing out music at an alarming rate for uber-hip labels such as Beard Science, and Rotters Golf Club under the Hardway Bros moniker. His productions, alongside fellow Hardway Bros, Jake Davies and a mysterious South Londoner known only as Rico have graced Sabres of Paradise, Third Mind, his own erstwhile Flashcomm label and more recently Beard Science, Pointless Edits and cult Norwegian act Mungolian Jetset's label Luna Flicks. Sean's DJ'ing style described by FACT Magazine as 'Future Disco' is hard to pin down to one convenient genre, taking in house, disco, re-edits, techno and frankly anything else that takes his fancy. His recent gigs at East Village with Andrew Weatherall, a stellar set at Disco Bloodbath and a super freaky downtempo set on Tim Sweeny's 'Beats In Space' show helped him secure a founding residency at Londons 'Cable'.
Sean is currently working on new Hardway Bros productions and his new clubnight 'A Love From Outer Space' alongside Andrew Weatherall at intimate Stoke Newington venue, 'The Drop', where The duo bill it as' Psyche-Disco never exceeding 122bpm' - in reality an incendiary mix of Kraut-rock, post punk, proto-house, slo-mo techno, disco and downtempo electronics. The night attracts a boisterous mix of Stoke locals, disco beards, fashion refugees and music heads, tagged as 'An oasis of slowness in a world of increasing velocity'.
Here, the London representative of the Hardway Bros drops a truely stunning mix that was originally hosted on the highly recommended 'To The Bone' website.

"We are the Hardway Brothers. We like to muck around with sound. Once we were House, then we were Balearic, then we were Techno. We fought the Acid House Wars and lost. We made records. We rested. Now we work again. We have no respect for copyright. We work in the space between the ones and the zeros. We are your friends. We have no manifesto. We love music, we are not bound by genre fascism. We are in London, we are in Los Angeles, we are in the gaps of the web."

FACT Magazine interview with Sean Johnston and Andrew Weatherall.

Hardway Bros on Soundcloud

1. L.V with Errol Bellot * Globetrotting
2. Joker * Digidesign
3. Fontan * Early Morning (Studio Version)
4. Hedford Vachal Edit * Chicken Choke
5. Alcada Mendes * Coaster (Idjut Boys Version 1)
6. Gina X Performance * Nice Mover
7. Pollyester * You Are Amen
8. Chris & Cosey * This Is Me
9. G.Rizo * Je Me Mentis
10. The Cure * Pictures Of You (Extended Dub Mix)
11. Massive Attack * Protection (Quiet Village Mix)
12. Carl Craig * A Wonderful Life
13. Undisputed Truth * Undisputed Truth (Editions Disco)
14. Antena * Achilles (Phreek Plus One Typhoon Mix)
15. William Orbit * Via Caliente
16. One Dove * Jolene
17. Bee Gees * Love You Inside & Out (Cole Medina Edit)
18. Peter Bjorn & John * Nothing To Worry About (Alexa Mix)
19. DJ Krush * Skin Against Skin
20. Force Of Nature * Liberate
21. OG Balearic Bootie * C' Oute

Download Sean Johnstons: 'Hardway Bros Bathing Machine II' mix here.

Till next time.
Big love. Tourist. X

P.S. Just click the links to follow us at Tourist and our good friends at Dada on that Twitter thingy. G'waaaan!

Friday, 13 August 2010

Sucking on the corporate teat.


Yes, this is a shamelessly self motivated post, but who are you that can sit in judgment of Tourists need to buy nappies (even though we have no kids).

Juno are having an 80% sale.

follow the link to see what you can snaffle up!

Wednesday, 4 August 2010

At home, you're a tourist! + Brennan Green mix.


Time,,,,,,,, time, longevity and all things temporal. Those are the things that have been piquing my interest this week. Now the traditional mode of temporality is usually defined as 'a linear procession of past, present, future.' However, who is to say that this commonly acknowledged formula is the same for everyone? After all, we're told in school and church from the very youngest age that 'God created the heaven and the Earth and all things therein in 7 days,' and still had time to kick back and have a roast on the 7th day. Now by any measure that's some going! We all know that the lads got a good engine on him like a kind of celestial Michael Essien, an omnipotent midfield dynamo all full of hustle, box to box from the first to last whistle and all that, but 7 days? Whats to say that one of Gods days wasn't a hundred, a thousand or even a million of our years? Relatively speaking the increments of measuring time have been argued over by every sect and religion since the beginning of,,, er,, time. Which brings me untidily to my point. The particular facet of time and it's measurement I've suddenly found rammed in my face is that of geniality and heritage. The amount of websites and magazine advertising now taken up with people who profess to be able to trace back your ancestry. Why do they do it? And more importantly, why do so many people come to the North in search of their ancestors who are, to them, no more than names. It seems like the North East of England, in particular Northumberland is second only to Scotland for people tracing their humble working class routes, it's as though we were the master default switch on every genealogists computer. They come in droves, always middle class, dressed is brand new yellow cagoules and expensive walking boots to pour over all but illegible copper plate and parrish registers with scant regard for the damage inflicted on their eyes. They scrape the lichen from headstones in Alnwick. They walk beside tiny streams in Morpeth where someone with rickets who two century's ago happened to share 100% of their Mothers surname and 1.575 of their DNA may, just may have walked in inadequate foot ware. What is wrong with them? What is the current obsession with 'Roots'? You could say it's a lot to do with the Catalans and Basques. They, like Northerners have always been people who's main contribution has been human export. Brain, muscle and sinew for hire. From the Newcastle and Durham miners who selflessly went to fight Franco's annexing of Barcelona to Northern Women chucking themselves under the Queens horse's, spoiling Royal Ascot in search of the vote. There has always seemed to be a Northerner of some gender at the front of the mob to throw the first brick. Some may say that this is a classic example of Northern ignorance and belligerence but I'd rather mark it down as a steadfast commitment to the cause. There's always been a culture of strong left wing political identity in the North as well as the more publicised intolerance and racism we're so often accused of. But this strong identity and working ethic displayed in our grand parents and their parents has always been the main driving force for Northern people leave here in search of a bigger stage and of a living wage and the chance of material improvement. That's why we have these middle class, Sunday afternoon family tree enthusiasts bothering our beer gardens of a weekend. It's largely a matter of economical survival, their ancestors made a hard-nosed decision to leave and their descendants make the soft-nosed decision to come back and claim some Northern heritage by proxy. The stuff in their veins is blood group 'Wey-aye' and when they bleed they bleed a coal and Brown Ale mix. The internet has been a boom for both pornography and genealogists, unsurprisingly as the fundamental principle for both is the same, incremental. There must always be more. More participants, more contortion, more Grand Parents, more second cousins. It's not enough to trace back 2 or 3 generations. They need to find the rusty pick axe that their great grandfather 14 times removed used to cut the first lump of coal out of Durhams first coal face. All the while telling themselves the lie of the 'good old days'. Now as corrupt as the Northern vernacular has become, we have the good fortune to speak a form of the English language which, unlike Arabic or Sicilian, has a future tense. Why not concentrate on the regeneration in the area, of the quayside in Newcastle, the award winning Sage Buildings or the Millennium Bridge rather than the rose tinted-half remembered, tiresome tales of young northern scamps and the elaborate comic ruses created to prevent their angry mothers from discovering their chronic truancy. These to me are far less interesting. Yet still people insist on concentrating on coo-ing over scratchy-sepia toned pictures of kids in flat caps and tatty knee length trousers holding onto ropes attached to malnourished pit ponies. Remember, there is another North East, vital, living, untarnished places with energy and a greater delight. Places with no quasi Victorian-ancestral claim on us. Where the yolk of a ready made collective history is absent. One that we can talk of in the future perfect rather than the past historic. Places where we can choose to go towards rather than come from. Places with potential, where anything is possible, where everything is waiting to happen. That's all for now. But how long is now?


New York City DJ and producer Brennan Green has carved his own little niche in dance music's leftfield—between his genre-bending DJ sets and releases on Modal, DFA, Balihu, and his own Chinatown imprint, it's hard to predict exactly what kind of otherworldly sonic experience he's about to cook up. On the mix Green takes it to a whole other level, largely ditching the house and disco sounds he's often associated with in favor of a lengthy psychedelic journey through downtempo, prog, funk, Krautrock, and other sounds on the outer reaches of the aural spectrum. With a protracted moment of silence dedicated to Michael Jackson segueing into a Bruce Springsteen re-edit, it's pretty clear that this isn't the average DJ mix. It's an unusual journey, albeit one well worth taking.

1. Supersempfft * Pipe Dreams On A Lilypad
2. The Orb * A Huge Ever Growing Pulsating Brain That Rules from the Centre of the Ultraworld (Orbital Dance Mix)
3. Robert Quine/Fred Maher * Dark Place
4. Rolling Stones * Heaven
5. F.U.S.E. * Dimension Intrusion
6. Air * Modular Mix
7. Kenny Hawkes * Sex Propella
8. Skylab * Seashell
9. Simple Minds * Today I Died Again
10. Brian Briggs * AEO (Parts I & II)
11. Parliament * The Goose
12. Greek Buck * The Music Lover's Butt Is Love
13. John Lennon/Yoko Ono * Two Minutes Silence (dedicated to Michael Jackson)
14. Bruce Springsteen * State Trooper (Brennan Green Suicidal Edit)
15. Ippu Do "IN Side/OUT Side
16. 400 Blows * Perspective 5
17. Ippu Do "OUT Side/IN Side
18. Sons Of Aroa * Be Wise In The Way Of Plants
19. B2 Unit * Riot In Lagos
20. Nu Era * Cydonia
21. Koro Osanago * Mini-Klik
22. Berührt Verführt (Brennan Green/Yas Inoue edit)

Download the Brennan Green mix here.

Till next time.
Big love. Tourist. X.