martins elevated position in society is nothing to do with his being a stockbroker- it's purely a matter of his having some of the finest bone structure this side of los fucking angeles.

on saturday i was at a party with him (darren was playing drums in the next room to twenty or so dancing people- sorry to grant's neighbours for that) and a complete stranger approached to ask for a light. as martin was fishing in his pockets, this lady was so struck by martins bone structure that she was moved to compliment him on it. so you could read that image on many levels really...

greatest thanks to everybody who voted for us on the lamacq playlist- y'all made my week and are welcome round my flat for milk and cookies anytime. we are currently recording single number 2, REACTORPARTY, which we hope to get out in the new year somehow.

the song is our tribute to happy hardcore and is fast.

the lyrics came about after hearing of hardcore and gabba parties occurring amongst the decaying hulks of abandoned soviet nuclear power plants. the new uses of these spaces seems to be symptomatic of the erosion of centralised control of the state infrastructure.

apparently popular with many partygoers are the purple slices carved from loaves of bread through which denaturat or industrial ethanol has been filtered. it seems the free market economy has not yet provided adequately for its citizens' recreational drug needs.

nevertheless, i think we can learn much from the revolutionary approach of the reactorparty. how to reclaim wasted urban spaces for free parties, how to get wasted no matter how little cashmoney is available to you, how to dance harder, and most importantly- if you desire regime change in a state, don't send your young to be butchered on the battlefield, don't waste your time with the official legal channels; all you really need is a shady man with a poison tipped umbrella and you can make your enemies look like freddy krueger.

shitdisco says: anarchy in the USSR

We didn’t play at In The City. Nope. Don’t know where that one came from.

Anyway, I’m pretty sure that Robbie Williams’ new song is about terrorism and how it can be justified when it's carried out by the oppressed. See, I wouldn’t give him the credit either, but I’ve been bombarded from all angles by this Dub-Pop knife in the ears that I started listening to the lyrics, and it makes sense:
“I know it’s gone and there’s gonna be violence / I’ve taken as much as I’m willing to take / Why do you think we should suffer in silence? / When a heart is broken there’s nothing to break”
And then there’s those lines:
“I leave a few shells in my gun / To stop me staring at the sun”

I mean, I don’t think I’m reading too hard into that. It does make sense. A pop anthem for all you rock throwing kids in Palestine. Get the markets covered Rob. No one’s really gone balls out to target that Angry Young Crushed-By-A-Few-Too-Many-Tanks demographic. It almost makes the bastard interesting.

Out wandering the London streets with arms full of booze, searching for entertainment, somehow the above happened. I can't remember why exactly, but if you know that the man on the left is a painter, and he on the right is a stockbroker; the whole scene becomes some kind of rubbish statement about Modern Life.

There were a few such incidents of note on our travel, including using the band van to fly-tip refridgerators for a local club. A bit of money on the side and a bit of hooting & hollering as we drove off to freedom and victory. I cut my ankle in the process, but such is the price of glory. And I'd do it again.

It was a ten hour drive each way in the van, nightmarish piece of shit that it was, it could only do 55mph and even then it was constantly overheating. We had to drive with the heat on full blast in the cab to try and keep the engine just below red - dry faces and cracked eye balls all round. But we made it back, blood clots in knees and seat-belts in spines. And then we got played on Radio 1 the next day and went fucking beserk.

Cheers to aal you capital people who came to the london gigs. Most righteous fun was had, if not by all, then by all but the hapless sound engineers trying to wrap their indie numbed ears around a band where the lead instrument is the drums.

It took us a wee while to get used to english pub opening hours again: its amazing the difference an hour here and there can make when you're steaming. For example, i tended to panic drink in the pubs in order to be suitably pished and avoid paying shit-on-your-face extortionate club bar prices.

as the scouts say, BE PREPARED.

This is a risky venture. Go too far and you will be denied club-fun by a surly martial arts obsessive in a bomber jacket on the door.
Nevertheless, being overly prepared on the intoxication front, and with a little retching perseverence, one can propel oneself into the london night like George Best after a liver transplant. The catalyst here has been right under your nose the whole time--- YOU CAN DRINK IN THE STREETS IN LONDON AND YOU WILL NOT BE ARRESTED.

After this revelation preparation for an evening out takes on a wholly different hue. Instead of wearing merely aftershave, a ben sherman and the proverbial 'beer-jacket', you will find yourself beginning to favour large parkas or raincoats, as these are better suited to sitting in a doorway sipping your favourite brand of tonic wine from a brown paper bag. Pubs, and the associated social pissabouts, become increasingly redundant as it is cheaper to get a carry out from the 24-hour offy and, you know, london is an expensive place to live. Spirits become your new brew of choice, after you exhaust every friend and acquaintance in town by sleeping and, occasionally, soiling yourself on their sofa. That warm feeling inside helps keep the cold out.

BE PREPARED.