Thursday 27 August 2009
It is another hard entry into the morning and day. The alarm clock buzzes just when I do not want it to and the reality of getting even less sleep than usual is beginning to take its toll now. Despite this however I leave for the station with my car clock saying 6.39AM for the second time this week, 6.39AM being two minutes ahead of when I am usually pulling away from Bohemian Grove. Am I forgetting to do something in the morning before leaving? Something like wash?
Arrival at North Station is met with the announcement that there is a broken down goods train at Marks Tey so fuck knows when I will now be getting into London.
As the train slowly grinds to a halt early on it comes coupled with a dulling headache kicking in my wellbeing. All in all this equates to my becoming a gloomy bear.
When we finally reach Chelmsford a beautiful Asian lady sits next to me and this only serves as a harsh and timely reminder of my single status.
Eventually the train pulls into Liverpool Street just before 8.40AM. This not a little late, this is a lot late, this is compensation territory. Hurray, I get to claim back a £4 train voucher in exchange for 40 minutes of my life I will not be getting back. These people are slowly murdering me physically and spiritually, one millisecond at a time.
A further delay occurs on the platform of the tube station at Liverpool Street and when my train finally arrives it comes with the smell of a combination of pork and a McDonalds breakfast. My stomach begins to rumble as the remainder of my body continues to ache and complain.
Finally I stagger into work a little late but not late to the point I feel the need/requirement to apologise.
The working day is a disaster, I do nothing. The combination of my headache and fatigue prevents me from focusing and concentrating so a lot of today’s efforts have to be used in calming down and preventing my internal tourettes becoming external.
Thankfully the day does last forever and eventually 5.30PM comes around and with it time to head home. The gods also appear to be smiling on me as the journey home proves to be smooth and lacking in drama and delay.
Tonight is the latest Flux Capacitor gig at The Bull hosted by Lee. After the last show he put on starring Kunt And The Gang all signs point towards tonight being a great night as DJ SCOTCH EGG is headlining.
After stopping by at the olds in Balkerne Heights I get in touch with Doug to see if he is heading down from Ipswich and when he responds telling me how he is already at The Bull I swiftly/immediately head down.
When I arrive people are light on the ground. With Lee already stressing about one of his acts having dropped out (PILCHARD) the additional headache for him comes in the form of people being light on the ground.
The night opens with a ZA GINIPIGGU set. Or at least an attempt at one. Due to technical difficulties frustration overrides proceedings and the set gets aborted as Lee announces that he might just as well do an impromptu MIXOMATOSIS set involving the usual lashings of screaming and rolling around in agony to mutations of popular hits amongst the well adjusted. As ever it is an ugly sight born out of annoyance and frustration, a necessary declaration and expression. Tonight the set is stepped up with the addition of DJ SCOTCH EGG getting involved, distorting and obliterating the pitch of the MIXOMATOSIS performance to ear splitting levels and super humour. Bonus. A collaboration of the nations, celebration.
Following on from this comes some stroppy mare endeavouring to stamp authority and discipline onto proceedings. The HYPNOTIQUE spiel an awkward. I guess it does not help that on a personal level she reminds me of somebody from my past I named Moriarty. With a pounding beat announcing/declaring her entrance into the room she stomps like some kind of major, hovering around the audience declaring “you lack discipline” before boarding the stage and wheeling out a selection of songs about manipulation and woe (amongst other things). Her axe is the Theremin and she expertly uses it to grind. There is something really exciting about the Theremin, of the noise it exudes and the spooky sounds that accompany its execution and abandon. To have such a sound accompany seeding sex stories though is somewhat reaching in a non-triumphant way. Ultimately though I fail to get taken in by the content, it feels disingenuous.
In the spot where PILCHARD should have originally performing now instead comes a mix that he has phoned in with view to the audience having a dance off contest instead. As a paper cut out of his face is placed onstage to look over proceedings (and judge) a few of us attempt to dance at the fragmented sounds of a mix made to offend major labels and copyright enforcers. Personally I do some Moonwalking in tribute to the death of our leader, our king Michael Jackson but when the dust settles and all is done Lee chooses to award the winning prize to some strangers (well, people we don’t know). Did he not understand that this was my Pulp Fiction?
With this DJ SCOTCH EGG takes up centre stage on proceedings and dishes out another frenetic and pleasingly terrifying set of chiptune and gabba destruction set around his table of magic toys, each warping and mashing the sound with each magical touch. As he bounces around beckoning the audience to move closer he is energy is as boundless as his musical intellect and the pulsing charge his drum and bass combination mutates proceedings in some kind of game of its own as he swoops around the audience like an overexcited dog. At some point he grabs a chair almost WWF style and for a moment it looks as if proceedings are going to go bash but ultimately he just wants an added/improved view of events.
For a musical form that is so steeped in computers and electronics DJ SCOTCH EGG really brings a new level/degree of performance to the genre in a live setting. With this explosion comes a tangible element to the music, one that serves to make a person’s heart beat faster and their body accelerate to a new degree. Basically it is unavoidable when the author and father of the music gets so positively and physically in your face. At the end of the day chiptune is chiptune, there are very few subtleties attached to and the only true way to respond is to either physically or literally scream.
Swiftly after the set ZA GINIPIGGU finds a new life as the technical difficulties of earlier get solved/resolved and the pulsing refines of random notes chosen by the audience serve to shake the room in the most nonplussed motion possible. With this the reality as the night slowly comes to an end this soundscape serves to clear the room of both audience and awkwardness. I remain to the end hoping to discover, maybe even the brown notes. Neither occur but as the set (and the evening) comes to thundering climax when silence screams out so do I in a cheer part steeped in relief, celebration and sacrifice.
Afterwards we reconvene outside feeling the victors because we were part of a special few to have bothered with the events of the evening. Away from turnout the entire evening was another victory (artistic) from The Flux Capacitor.
As DJ SCOTCH EGG emerges he asks if any of us have a light but nobody seems to smoke much in our circles anymore. Instead we begin chatting and I do my usual thing with Japanese people of grilling them about J-Pop and throwing names such as Koda Kumi and Ayumi Hamasaki into the mix. DJ SCOTCH EGG nails me immediately and says with a laugh “you like Japanese girls?” My peccadillo.
From here with the night heading towards midnight we slowly head off in our different directions. I give Doug a lift to the train station and as I turn around and head home I spot DJ SCOTCH EGG sat on the kerb outside the station. I wave and give him the thumbs up in appreciation for him coming to Colchester tonight. Slow witted as ever I get halfway home before I realise that he has probably missed the last train home. Immediately I turn my car home and return to the station to check that he is OK and offer a couch to sleep on if need be. When I get back to the station he is gone. It being a Thursday night in Colchester this is a very grotty time to be stranded on the streets. I hope he is OK. Suddenly I feel guilt for not checking that he was OK first time around. I hope this is not the last time we see him.
It is another hard entry into the morning and day. The alarm clock buzzes just when I do not want it to and the reality of getting even less sleep than usual is beginning to take its toll now. Despite this however I leave for the station with my car clock saying 6.39AM for the second time this week, 6.39AM being two minutes ahead of when I am usually pulling away from Bohemian Grove. Am I forgetting to do something in the morning before leaving? Something like wash?
Arrival at North Station is met with the announcement that there is a broken down goods train at Marks Tey so fuck knows when I will now be getting into London.
As the train slowly grinds to a halt early on it comes coupled with a dulling headache kicking in my wellbeing. All in all this equates to my becoming a gloomy bear.
When we finally reach Chelmsford a beautiful Asian lady sits next to me and this only serves as a harsh and timely reminder of my single status.
Eventually the train pulls into Liverpool Street just before 8.40AM. This not a little late, this is a lot late, this is compensation territory. Hurray, I get to claim back a £4 train voucher in exchange for 40 minutes of my life I will not be getting back. These people are slowly murdering me physically and spiritually, one millisecond at a time.
A further delay occurs on the platform of the tube station at Liverpool Street and when my train finally arrives it comes with the smell of a combination of pork and a McDonalds breakfast. My stomach begins to rumble as the remainder of my body continues to ache and complain.
Finally I stagger into work a little late but not late to the point I feel the need/requirement to apologise.
The working day is a disaster, I do nothing. The combination of my headache and fatigue prevents me from focusing and concentrating so a lot of today’s efforts have to be used in calming down and preventing my internal tourettes becoming external.
Thankfully the day does last forever and eventually 5.30PM comes around and with it time to head home. The gods also appear to be smiling on me as the journey home proves to be smooth and lacking in drama and delay.
Tonight is the latest Flux Capacitor gig at The Bull hosted by Lee. After the last show he put on starring Kunt And The Gang all signs point towards tonight being a great night as DJ SCOTCH EGG is headlining.
After stopping by at the olds in Balkerne Heights I get in touch with Doug to see if he is heading down from Ipswich and when he responds telling me how he is already at The Bull I swiftly/immediately head down.
When I arrive people are light on the ground. With Lee already stressing about one of his acts having dropped out (PILCHARD) the additional headache for him comes in the form of people being light on the ground.
The night opens with a ZA GINIPIGGU set. Or at least an attempt at one. Due to technical difficulties frustration overrides proceedings and the set gets aborted as Lee announces that he might just as well do an impromptu MIXOMATOSIS set involving the usual lashings of screaming and rolling around in agony to mutations of popular hits amongst the well adjusted. As ever it is an ugly sight born out of annoyance and frustration, a necessary declaration and expression. Tonight the set is stepped up with the addition of DJ SCOTCH EGG getting involved, distorting and obliterating the pitch of the MIXOMATOSIS performance to ear splitting levels and super humour. Bonus. A collaboration of the nations, celebration.
Following on from this comes some stroppy mare endeavouring to stamp authority and discipline onto proceedings. The HYPNOTIQUE spiel an awkward. I guess it does not help that on a personal level she reminds me of somebody from my past I named Moriarty. With a pounding beat announcing/declaring her entrance into the room she stomps like some kind of major, hovering around the audience declaring “you lack discipline” before boarding the stage and wheeling out a selection of songs about manipulation and woe (amongst other things). Her axe is the Theremin and she expertly uses it to grind. There is something really exciting about the Theremin, of the noise it exudes and the spooky sounds that accompany its execution and abandon. To have such a sound accompany seeding sex stories though is somewhat reaching in a non-triumphant way. Ultimately though I fail to get taken in by the content, it feels disingenuous.
In the spot where PILCHARD should have originally performing now instead comes a mix that he has phoned in with view to the audience having a dance off contest instead. As a paper cut out of his face is placed onstage to look over proceedings (and judge) a few of us attempt to dance at the fragmented sounds of a mix made to offend major labels and copyright enforcers. Personally I do some Moonwalking in tribute to the death of our leader, our king Michael Jackson but when the dust settles and all is done Lee chooses to award the winning prize to some strangers (well, people we don’t know). Did he not understand that this was my Pulp Fiction?
With this DJ SCOTCH EGG takes up centre stage on proceedings and dishes out another frenetic and pleasingly terrifying set of chiptune and gabba destruction set around his table of magic toys, each warping and mashing the sound with each magical touch. As he bounces around beckoning the audience to move closer he is energy is as boundless as his musical intellect and the pulsing charge his drum and bass combination mutates proceedings in some kind of game of its own as he swoops around the audience like an overexcited dog. At some point he grabs a chair almost WWF style and for a moment it looks as if proceedings are going to go bash but ultimately he just wants an added/improved view of events.
For a musical form that is so steeped in computers and electronics DJ SCOTCH EGG really brings a new level/degree of performance to the genre in a live setting. With this explosion comes a tangible element to the music, one that serves to make a person’s heart beat faster and their body accelerate to a new degree. Basically it is unavoidable when the author and father of the music gets so positively and physically in your face. At the end of the day chiptune is chiptune, there are very few subtleties attached to and the only true way to respond is to either physically or literally scream.
Swiftly after the set ZA GINIPIGGU finds a new life as the technical difficulties of earlier get solved/resolved and the pulsing refines of random notes chosen by the audience serve to shake the room in the most nonplussed motion possible. With this the reality as the night slowly comes to an end this soundscape serves to clear the room of both audience and awkwardness. I remain to the end hoping to discover, maybe even the brown notes. Neither occur but as the set (and the evening) comes to thundering climax when silence screams out so do I in a cheer part steeped in relief, celebration and sacrifice.
Afterwards we reconvene outside feeling the victors because we were part of a special few to have bothered with the events of the evening. Away from turnout the entire evening was another victory (artistic) from The Flux Capacitor.
As DJ SCOTCH EGG emerges he asks if any of us have a light but nobody seems to smoke much in our circles anymore. Instead we begin chatting and I do my usual thing with Japanese people of grilling them about J-Pop and throwing names such as Koda Kumi and Ayumi Hamasaki into the mix. DJ SCOTCH EGG nails me immediately and says with a laugh “you like Japanese girls?” My peccadillo.
From here with the night heading towards midnight we slowly head off in our different directions. I give Doug a lift to the train station and as I turn around and head home I spot DJ SCOTCH EGG sat on the kerb outside the station. I wave and give him the thumbs up in appreciation for him coming to Colchester tonight. Slow witted as ever I get halfway home before I realise that he has probably missed the last train home. Immediately I turn my car home and return to the station to check that he is OK and offer a couch to sleep on if need be. When I get back to the station he is gone. It being a Thursday night in Colchester this is a very grotty time to be stranded on the streets. I hope he is OK. Suddenly I feel guilt for not checking that he was OK first time around. I hope this is not the last time we see him.
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