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The Booze Test

66%SOCIAL DRINKER

The Sound of Now: DJ Tuco

DJ Tuco - No Man Remix
DJ Tuco - Bitch Fight in the Snatch Palace
DJ Tuco - Return To The Snatch Palace
DJ Tuco myspaz
Meanbucket

Kevin Keegan - Runcorn Untouchable

Spotted this list of undesirables in the foyer of one of Runcorn's many public houses. I was once told Runcorn had more pubs per capita than anywhere else in the country; I don't know how true this is/was but one might suggest that this would explain quite a lot about my Runcorn brethen.

Anyway on scanning the poster to see how many people I recognised (easily half a dozen - Runcorn just ain't that big) my eyes fell upon the name of one Kevin Keegan! The mind boggles at what unspeakable act the Liverpool and Newcastle United legend could have committed to be banned from all of Runcorn's hostelries. But imagine if it involved some of his ex players too! I can just picture the scene: Pub doors fly open and in staggers KK, eyes rolling, his silver hair matted and unkempt with his Newcastle United overcoat slashed down the back exposing its white fluffy inner core, reminiscent of one of those sad teddy bears you see strapped to the front grille of council bin wagons. And who are those three behind him? 'Kin 'ell it's Ruel Fox and Phillipe Albert and The Divine Ponytail himself Darren Peacock, trusted lieutenants of his Newcastle side and now cadres in Mighty Mouse's debauched band of alky ex-pros!

Or maybe are Kev is just a normal bloke. No doubt Kev would be of Red extraction, and born in the mid seventies when his namesake was in his pomp. His folks probably thought naming him after their idol would stand him in good stead in later years. Maybe it did. Kev might wear a suit to work, drive a shit hot Beemer and rattle his hot secretary over his mahogany desk any day with a 'Y' in it. He could have just been in the pub one summer's afternoon, getting off early cos he can do shit like that being the boss and all. He could have just been sat on a picnic bench wearing the expression of a contented man, supping a cold pint then something might have just clicked in his head like Michael Douglas in Falling Down. Kev might have gone buckwild.

Anyway I don't know the circumstances behind Kev's banning order but if was a betting man I bet having that name through his 30 odds years of life didn't fucking help him one bastard jot.

Graffiti

This book has got to be THE B-boy manuscript. We had a copy of this legendary tome in our school library and you'd be hard pressed to find a book as influential as it was on certain generation of kids. Along with the film 'Style Wars', this book served to document not just the NY graffiti scene of the late seventies 'n' early eighties but also the nascent Hip Hop scene. I would pour over this book for literally hours, imagining the pieces winding their way through the city like enormous steel snakes.

Inspired by the incredible artwork in this book I, like many others, took to creating my own graffiti. This in turn led me into the path of other like minded individuals and from there to the formation of our very own posse: The PAS Crew, its unabbreviated Sunday name being The Performed Art Syndicate. We'd tag up everywhere and once in a while grab some spray paint from D & E Motors in the Old Town and do a throw up. Happy days.

Back then, even in the one horse town of Runcorn where I grew up, you would see incredible burners appearing on the regular. However the torrent eventually became a trickle and before long it completely disappeared. There were one or two spots where people still painted, behind Runcorn FC's Canal Street ground and under Sutton Weaver Bridge being two notable exceptions but you rarely saw anything new appearing in the street. The transition for feast to famine happened so quickly.

Anyway, I still consider myself a b-boy and firm proponent of the global culture of Hip Hop, which is why I was utterly overjoyed to find a whole street of burners on a recent holiday to Palma Nova, Mallorca. Check out the pictures I took on my Flickr page. B-boy/girl or not, anyone not able to appreciate the artistry here must have a swinging brick for a heart. Enjoy.

Tesco Terror Teeth

By far the best 97 pence I've spent in a loonnnnggg time. Bought 'em from the Halloween section in Tesco and scarcely had them out of my gob all weekend. Getting stuck bumper to bumper in traffic on the way back from in Warrington has never been so much fun. Some of the looks my new grille got were absolutely priceless. Gonna try and scare the shit out of some pie-eyed clubbers at Chibuku next...

Kickers

I distinctly remember seeing my first pair of Kickers. They were worn by one of those kids in school who 50 years ago wouldn't have made it past infancy. You know the sort: craven, skeletally thin, perpetually wheezing from chronic asthma and almost straining under the weight of the brown NHS specs perched at the end of his nose. A real winner. However one of my first memories was this pitiful creature wearing a pair of these shoes and being genuinely shocked... but in a bad way. At five years old or whatever I was then they were the strangest most fucked up shoes I'd ever seen. Until very recently (i.e today) recalling that memory would illicit feeling of utter revulsion. I think I've got some unresolved phychological problem stemming from seeing those shoes - a flash burn to the mind. Back then they were just too weird for my tiny little mind to comprehend.

Ever since then I've maintained a real aversion to Kickers, especially the black leather ones that look a bit like a cornish pasties. Wrong wrong and more wrong. However I saw the shoes pictured the other day and realised that I REALLY want a pair. Santa Claus on his Crimbo night out man. Is fuckin right!!!

Eulogy

The number 9 shirt has been worn by some of Liverpool's deadliest strikers over the years, most latterly by one Robert Bernard Fowler. Beatified by Liverpool fans and christened with nickname 'God', Fowler was and still is universally adored by all Reds. Fernando Torres is the latest incumbent of our number 9 shirt, and so far it's looking a perfect fit.

However not only has Torres inherited Fowler's number 9 the shirt, but also his chant. Like the shirt, this chant is reserved for only the most gifted of Liverpool strikers. For Torres to have this ultimate honour bestowed upon him with his Liverpool career in its infancy is an enormous tribute and hints at the exalted status Fernando Torres is held by Liverpool fans.

Not since the days of Fowler in his pomp or Owen at his blistering best have we seen a Liverpool striker play with as much threat, purpose and attacking verve as Torres. Liverpool fans are renowned as being some of the shrewdest and most knowledgeable fans around, but with this lad you don't even need half a brain to see that he is gonna be some player for us. Blessed with searing pace, supreme close control, mammoth strength and, to coin a Rafa-ism, game intelligence, you can't run out of superlatives to describe him.

Watching his hat-trick against Reading in the third round of the Carling Cup was an absolute joy. Whilst we toiled in an evenly matched first half it was always clear who Reading considered our main goal threat. Throughout the game Reading's players pushed hassled and harrangued the man from Madrid but they couldn't knock him out of his stride. At times he would receive the ball and there would be three opposition players trying to take the ball off him. Superb to see after having something of a toothless forward line in recent years.

In short Torres looks to be well on his way to becoming the latest addition to what is a tremendous Anfield striking dynasty. Let's just hope Rafa sticks him in against Wigan on Saturday, after all, he looks like half decent cover for Andriy Voronin doesn't he? ; )

Contort Yourself Manchester

Well well well I can honestly say I didn't expect it to be that good. I gave you the heads up about Radioclit performing at Contort Yourself in Manchestah in an earlier post and I can honestly say it was a tremendous night. Tucked away in a corner of Manchester's Northern Quarter, The Roadhouse's somewhat plain facade belies the thundering maelstrom of sonic exhuberance churning within its bowels.

There appeared to be a real art school aesthetic going on with the patrons of Contort Yourself in dress sense and mentality. This is in no way a criticism as it certainly added to occasion - your typical club fare this is not. Like David Lynch's film Scanners, there appeared to be one of two in there who looked like they were engaging in some kind of psychic battle to see who could the blow their first mind, however most of the others in the club seemed intent on just getting down.

What a night though! We just hammered that dancefloor for four hours solid, killing it with sounds of Ocelot and Radioclit tearing the place down around our ears. Judging by some of the looks we were getting throughout the night it appeared as though the regulars were accustomed to something a little more restrained. Lea was on top form, you could turn around and guarentee he'd be busting some mad move. "Fucking 'ell, Lea's doin' lunges... and now press ups!". You'd look around though and people were in stitches haha. My personal favourite was this mad front crawl swimming dance thing I caught him doing. Was stunned at the time but the memory has had me creased all week. Especially when some random came over and started doing the same thing face to face with him. Insane in the membrane.

I've posted some pics and videos from this mad night on flickr and youtube. Check them out using the links below. I captured some decent images, a particular favourite being one of Sam looking the absolute personification of a Miss Van painting. One thing I didn't snap was the dickhead who thought it would be a bit of a wheeze to swing from the lighting gantry. Should have ragged the little knobhead down really as he killed the vibe for a minute.

The journey home was no less eventful. The wailing police sirens on the Turbulence track from the Radioclit Hard Working Class Vol.1 CD that had been very kindly passed to me by DJ Tron from Radioclit [central on above picture] earlier that evening provided me with a moment of panic. At least until I realised that it was coming from the speakers and not the actual feds. Have a gander at the vid to see what I mean. I've since driven my own car pumping this tune and the feeling that you're being aggressively tracked by the five-oh is rather exhilerating. Top class.

Contort Yourself Pictures @ flickr

Turbulence - Notorious (Radioclit RMX feat Trim) @ youtube

80s Spectacools

Him, on the left! Goddamn man I am really jonesing for some of the shades he's rocking in this picture at the minute. Spotted 'em after stumbling upon the SWEAT.X myspace page [ocular delectation to the power of 100 by the way] and it brought back loads of memories from my childhood. Only problem is that I cannot find a pair of them anywhere online. Managed to find out that they're sometimes known as "Devo Glasses" but I still can't find 'em for sale anywhere in the UK. Been on the hunt for the past 24 hours on and off with no luck so far. I will not rest until I am clasping a pair in my quivering feverish hands.

I tend to get these little compulsions every so often where I see something obscure that I want and end up doing my head in trying to find it. Usually I can find what I want but in this particular instance it is proving to be far more difficult. In fact that's an understatement, it's actually becoming a major headfuck.

If anyone should happen to know where one might obtain a pair of these ocular beauties please please let me know. My short term sanity depends on it.

Radioclit Radioclit Radioclit

Been well into these of late. Caught 'em first at the Troca Brahma soundclash in Liverpool where they blew me away then again very recently at Creamfields. They're playing the Roadhouse in Manchestah on 15/09/07 at an event called "Contort Yourself". I urge you all to attend - I'll be the dashing six footer cutting shapes front and centre on the dancefloor. In the meantime, if you aren't familiar with their oeuvre I strongly recommend that you educate yourself by jumping all over this shit. http://livemix.org/radioclit-resident-advisor-ra061.htm

Don't all thank me at once.

Cyber Snail Trail...

Finally bit the bullet and created a blog. Sweet Jesus! First read about this blogging thing three or four years ago but always dismissed it as the preserve of the more twattier elements of society, your typical Guardianista if you will. I mean who would want to read the musing of some no-mark living in Knowhere Town? However I've now decided to join the revolution and try and document some of the shit that is swimming around in my domepiece and add 'em to the sixty odd million blogs that are currently clogging up the net. From here to eternity, this will be my cyber snail trail. Here goes nothing...