Friday, 26 December 2008
Wednesday, 24 December 2008
Christmas is here and we have decided to spit in the face of shit telly, annoying relatives and eating too much by giving you a whole Christmas packed show of goodness to listen to instead of having to watch that episode of Friends where Ross kisses Rachael for the 877th time.
You can either listen to the show on the player to your right or if you've been a very good boy/girl you've subscribed to our podcast on iTunes - in which case you can expect a nice little bundle of joy downloaded and ready for your Christmas listening pleasure.
Or, if you're really fucking lazy and have eaten all the mince pies - you can download it HERE.
Wild Billy Childish & The Musicians of the British Empire - Santa Claus
Low - Just Like Christmas
The Knife - Christmas Reindeer
The Drifters - I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas
Albert King - Santa Claus Wants Some Loving
Jack Penate - Tonight's Today
Brenda Lee - Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree
Wham! - Last Christmas
Mariah Carey - All I Want For Christmas
Monday, 22 December 2008
Friday, 19 December 2008
Tuesday, 16 December 2008
We here at WASTEradio wholly condone, I mean condemn (ho ho), the excessive use of alcohol leading to anti- social behaviour and indeed vomit. However I recently came across a drinking game that could not be overlooked, even if it does encourage getting plastered. It encompasses two of the most frequently indulged activities of the festive period; drinking alcohol and watching the television.
"What about a cultural sojourn or something more religious?" I hear the traditionalists cry….. This is realism, mate. You know, like a scene straight out of the Royle Family. "We know what we like and that's whiite, whiiite, whiiiiiiiite." No, no, I digress, that's my favourite quote from a Hovis advert.
So now I've got the moral objections out of the way, back to the game. There are a few variations but the rules remain the same.
1. Record your favourite TV show or film
2. Concoct a communal beverage, nothing too rancid, although mouthwash or aerosols may be used in an emergency.
3. Gather round the TV, worshiping it like an alter.
4. Begin watching the screen.
There are a few caveats to the rules so as to introduce a competitive element, therefore making it a game and not an exercise in dulling the pain of Christmas. The aim of the game is to PAUSE the programme at pivotal moments and guess what the presenter or character will say next. The example that I came across was one that used Nigella's Christmas Kitchen as the programme. Nigella is a particularly good one as her speech oozes innuendos and semantics.
This works equally well with Eastenders, Gok Wan's How to Look Good Naked and Murder She Wrote.
If you're in the mood for even less human contact but want to drink and watch a screen, play the drink whenever Arnie gets kicked in the balls game, whilst watching Total Recall. It's a slow start but guaranteed to leave you hammered.
Thursday, 11 December 2008
Tuesday, 9 December 2008
Wax On is a club night with humble roots that started in 2004 at World Headquarters in Newcastle; a club that is held affectionately in the hearts of many a Toon dweller. The unstoppable juggernaut that it is kept on going and its dominion over all things Northern and Electro continued – they expanded to Leeds in 2006. Boasting rather impressive residents likes Annie Mac and Erol Alkan, it was a fail safe fix for me when I was twitching for a bit of rowdy electro in my days of yore as a student in Leeds.
So, revisiting this night I felt a mixture of nostalgia and excitement. The excitement was derived from the line-up, which was juicy and plump with such inimitable acts as Digitalism, Annie Mac, Switch, Plastician and Brodinsky. The live music was to come from Ladyhawke - the blonde, fringed songstress. Bracing ourselves from the biting cold, we watered ourselves amply in the local Working Man's club nearby and set off.The organisers announced some last minute tickets to the venue and I couldn't help but feel slightly cheated out of some breathing space/any space to move or dance. Gripes aside the venue is excellent and stands tall in the face of competitors of the same ilk.
Ladyhawke played in the Stylus which is the largest room in the venue. She seemed unfazed by the swell of people - mostly students in front of her, which resembled some sort of apocalyptic mass from the safety of the tier above the pit (from where I cowardly watched). Her laid back, slouchy warbling did not come across as morose and she held her own in front of the packed venue. Many pieces of her Peaches backed LP My Delirium were performed with panache. The infectious Paris is Burning was pretty rousing and of course got a good sing-a-long from the crowd. It was a top notch start to the evening.
We made the transition from Stylus to the smaller, more intimate Mine Bar and got an ear full of dub-step that was given the Plastician treatment. Back to Stylus for Annie Mac who gave us a signature mash up – that type that makes you wonder "where did that sample come from?"... which was both unpredictable and predictable. We were then treated to some more aural treats by Switch as the night drew on and then Brodinsky let rip with some pretty heavy I'm going to beat your ear drums into submission techno.
The night had come and gone without anything too untoward occurring. Of course everyone was a bit dishevelled and misty-eyed, but you wouldn't expect anything less. I was having a drink at the bar with my partner in crime, something happened that put a cherry on top of the waxy cake. This guy – a bouncer who for legal reasons will remain unnamed had some kind of Arnie complex. He wanted to flex, god damn, for anyone who would watch (that would be me then). First he gave us a preview on his Nokia of what was lurching beneath his bulging polo shirt. Then before we knew it we were holed up in a disabled toilet having an impromptu photo shoot. Er what? I'm not sure either, but Bouncy Boy aka Muscle Mary seemed to have a great time and so did we.
Photography: Jonangelo Molinari
Sunday, 7 December 2008
It's a weird experience going to Matter. After getting off the tube and walking towards the monumental structure that is the o2 centre, you are suddenly transported to Milton Keynes town centre on a Friday night...that is if Milton Keynes is actually inside a large shopping mall with fake palm trees and lots and lots of security guards - I wouldn't know, I've never been.
As far as 'super clubs' go, Matter has actually done quite well for itself. Lots of space to move around, a nice industrial warehouse look to it (championed by Panorama Bar in Berlin) and an amphitheatre sort of feel in the main room with ascending seats facing the stage so you can be that little bit more judging of the band/crowd beneath you.
But super club's aside, we came here to see Hercules & Love Affair - the much acclaimed 8 piece band who are well and truly bringing back disco. Hurrah.
To look at, the band are a bit of an odd bunch - Andy, the band's creator, stays out of the spotlight and plays keyboards and samples behind Kim Ann; a serene front woman with an androgynous look about her, and Nomi; a glamorous and vivacious party girl who both share the lead vocals, whilst the rest of the band are an assortment of trendy and energetic boy musicians. Offstage they're relaxed and friendly - the bassist shared lovely stories with me about sweating and being stung by a bee on stage - and this transcends into their live performance. Nomi does some serious bum shaking, the trumpet/trombone players work their synchronised moves and the bass player really does sweat a lot.
So, with all this visual pleasure to keep your eyes entertained it's even better when they bang out songs lie 'You Belong' and 'Blind'. There's something about live brass instruments in a club environment that makes me do a little sex wee - and the way they have mixed this with their modern disco sound is what I really like about Hercules & Love Affair.
The crowd were a mix of young gay boys (reaching as far as humanly possible over the stage to touch either Nomi or Kim Ann), old drama queens, straight up and down lads and clear-lensed cool kids. About as mixed as you can get really, which makes for a really relaxed and fun filled gig - bar having to stand next to a few oddly matched horny students sucking on each others faces.
The night was topped off with the added bonus of being able to travel back home by BOAT whilst chowing down on an S&M (Sausage & Mash, not Sado-Masochism) buttie. All together a thoroughly enjoyable evening. Fresh.
Visual Pleasure by Dan Wilton
Review written for 'Sup
Thursday, 4 December 2008
When people refer to places as ‘gems’, or ‘treasures’ that are ‘tucked away’, it tends to get my goat. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes you can catch me calling a pub a ‘gem’, such as the Faltering Fallback near Finsbury Park, but I say it in the style of the late Jimmy Carr. Besides, the entire façade of the Faltering Fallback is covered in ivy that turns red depending on the season, and it’s called the Faltering Fallback, and it probably serves fine ales.
But given that this is a serious piece of reporting, and that Jimmy Carr sadly passed away recently, I have banned all use of irony. So, no gems.
Luisa took us to a place today I had no idea existed.
Every other Thursday under an archway in Bethnal Green an auction takes place selling goods confiscated by the Metropolitan Police. A lot of the items on sale are what you would expect to find: a shed load of bikes, mobile phones, a couple of cars, car radios etc. The catalogue however does get a lot more random:
376: A gothic revival armchair
377: A fire screen and plant stand
Lots 349 to 355 were as follows:
A pair of ankle boots size 36
A blue and white Chinese style vase and multi colour similar
A Mahogany bottle coaster sterling silver inset and gallery surround
A pair of black and red vases and matching ginger jar
10 assorted hand decorated wine glasses
A pair of green smoke glass vases
A collection of Colour Box teddy ornaments
Bruce Forsyth. Bruce Forsyth. Bruce Forsyth.
My personal favourite, though, was lot 121:
1 x pair of Nike trainers, 1 x cream jacket, 1 x pair of socks, 1 x pair of sunglasses
All of these items were tied together with some string. Clearly they were a set, and I couldn’t get the picture out of my head of a man wearing nothing but a pair of big white geeky Nike trainers, socks, a cream jacket, and a pair of creepy sunglasses. Whoever this man is, lurking somewhere in my imagination, I have an enormous amount of respect for him. I just hope he never sets foot near a school.
I reckon these auctions will revolutionise fashion. At any one time, people will only be allowed to wear items listed in the same lot. If you got kitted out with lot 119, for example, you’d be laughing: not only would you be able to cover almost all of your body, but you’d have some spares in case it was really cold, you soiled yourself, or you’re a bit nuts and enjoy wearing two shirts at the same time time. Of course, you’d get all the ladies too:
1 x white jacket, 2 x brown shirts, 3x pairs of Gap jeans, 1 x pair of socks, 1 x bottle of Zara aftershave.
One of the guys who ran the auction told us that they were all stolen goods. The first thing that came into my mind was, ‘who the fuck steals a pair of ladies sandals size 40?’ (lot number 3). Then I thought about the credit crunch and wanted to kill myself. Far more interesting, I think, are the people who got mugged in the first place.
We’ve already pictured the dude wearing lot 121, and probably had sex with whoever wore lot 119. Let us now consider whoever was wearing lot number 117:
1 x jumper, 3 x mascaras, 1 x brush, 1 x pair of tweezers
I find it hard to believe that someone would be so vain as to carry around a brush, a pair of tweezers and three different mascaras. I feel vain enough carrying my guyliner everywhere I go (inside left pocket) in case a moment arises when I feel the need to be eccentric, or just bring out the shape of my eyes a little. This becomes all the more weird given that this person was wearing only a jumper.
Moving on now from The Generation Game©, and passing Through the Keyhole®, let’s have a go at guessing who the previous owner of lot 117 was:
This is obviously a lady…
Good. Umm… Am I right in saying this lady wears a lot of mascara?
OK so, lady… mascara… Hmm. Every lady uses tweezers, so not much of a clue there, but she obviously pays a lot of attention to her hair. Does she have quite a distinctive hairstyle?
Right. This is quite puzzling. She’s got a distinctive hairstyle, wears lots of mascara, plucks (not that I have a problem with that), and is incapable of putting on enough clothes before leaving the door.
Aha! Was lot number 117 previously worn by… Amy Winehouse?
(Cue Sir David Frost)
Wednesday, 3 December 2008
It’s 6:30pm and I am currently in my studio. Working with me is Daniel Paul, head of visual pleasure. I’m bored of working, but Dan doesn’t want to leave yet because he’s “too busy”. What he’s actually doing is trying to translate what Uberding – a German blog site he did an interview with – has to say about him. I can only speak fake German, so I can’t really help. The tagline of the blog is pretty hilarious though: ‘…uberlife, uberstyle, uberfashion, ubernight, uberyou, uberme…’
In order to fill the time, I have decided to write some sort of stream of consciousness, kind of like what the surrealists did. Automatic art, yeah? So, here we go with my trickle of shit…
It’s cold. Really fucking cold. I have a small heater under my feet, but it’s not really cutting the mustard. If I had mustard, I would rub it over my body to make myself warm. Instead I’m wearing all the clothes that I wear outside, plus a Christmas jumper that I bought from Camden, well, last Christmas.
Seriously, I’m actually shivering and Dan keeps on making strange noises. Shouldn’t have eaten so many chips – they’re weighing my stomach down and making me feel slightly queezy. The last time I felt this queezy was when I watched Saló by Pasolini. Have you watched that film? If I say you should, and then you do, please do not judge me. It is a good film. Maybe I should explain myself slightly. The film is an adaptation of one the Marquis de Sade’s novels, but set in Italy during the Nazi-fascist reign in WWII. A group of fascist aristocrats kidnap a around twenty young Italian men and women, take them to a mansion in a town called Saló, and proceed to sexually abuse them. The four aristocrat men listen to stories recounted by prostitutes about their sexual experiences, most of which are pretty extreme. They do this in order to ‘get in the mood’. When they are sufficiently aroused by the prostitutes’ tales of exchanging bodily fluids with deprived bishops, they choose one of the teenagers to do something weird with. At one point, for example, one of the prostitutes talks about someone peeing on her face. A man then gets up, drags a girl into the bathroom, and makes her watch him take a pee in a urinal whilst she’s having a wee on the toilet.
Fuck it’s cold.
I first started watching this film with Luisa, Jon, Nina, and Becky at my house a week ago. We were around 30 minutes into the film so some freaky shit – freaky shit? Who am I? – had already happened. One of the prostitutes recalls the time when she killed her own mother so that she could visit a man famous for being an avid coprafiliac. That’s someone who’s massively into eating shit because it makes them feel sexy. Apparently Scatman John used to be one, and that’s why he died. I don’t think that’s true by the way. I think he’s living in an island in the Caribbean with 2pac, Elvis and Marylyn Manson. Wait, he’s not dead. He just wishes he was, or something. Anyway, she informs her audience of her experiences with this man, who apparently ejaculated on seeing her eat turd. Curious. The main aristocrat guy then praises the prostitute for killing her mum. Apparently she had no choice, as the pleasure she would get from smearing poo poo on her face was just too much to resist. The mother got in the way so that’s that. Off with her head. I’m such a loser. At this point, a girl starts sobbing. The aristo asks: "why?", and we are informed by one of the other strumpets that her mother died trying to protect her from the kidnappers. The man gets super horny about this for some reason, and takes down his trousers. He lays a turd in the middle of the room, pulls his trousers up – no wipe, by the way – and screams at the girl, telling her to eat it:
Do you reckon Scatman John and 2pac would get along?
That’s the point in the film when the Doovde cut out, and everyone let out a sigh of relief, me included. Luisa then said “Oh thank God, we don’t have to watch the rest of the film.” This was when something really weird happened. I found myself on the brink of saying: “Come on, let’s put it back on. I want to see what happens. I’ll wipe it with my t-shirt – I’m sure it’ll work,” but thankfully I held myself back. However, even though I managed to avoid my friends judging me…
My mum’s just called.
Sorry… yeah, so even though I managed to avoid my friends thinking I was a pervert, the damage was already done. I now knew that there was a pervert inside of me, waiting to be unleashed. But it was actually a good film, with a clear political message: ‘Fascists eat shit.’ I’ve watched the whole thing since – not by myself, I’d like to add – and it truly is a classic.
Instead of cleaning the Doovde - as I did a few days later - we put on Magnolia instead, which funnily enough turned out to be…
…a pile of shit.
Dan’s finished now, so I’m off.
Thank you, and goodbye.