A CASUAL remark on Twitter about being too skint to make Derrick ‘@blucu’ Carter’s gig at Moho Live in Manchester last week was all it took for the man himself to get in touch. The missus and me were only too glad to take him up on his kind and generous offer.
I make no apologies. I am shameless and she is easily led.
I’m sure he won’t make a habit of it but money is tight at the moment and we were very grateful. Happily, as well as being a lovely geezer, the guy is a fucking demon on the decks, playing a variety of alternately soulful and jacking house music. All of which seemed to be on vinyl.
We had absolutely zero problem making good on our promise to dance our arses off, despite/in addition to being horribly, horribly pissed up on booze for much of the night.
Not having been out properly for what seems like donkeys’ years, the pair of us had more or less forgotten how incredibly tedious nightclubs can be. You know the score: the knobhead bouncers, the endless fucking queues, the clumsy potato-headed child-patrons – and make no mistake Moho has all of that stuff in spades – but thanks to the delightful Mr Carter, we had the most fun ever.
I’ve been lucky enough to catch Chicago’s very own Big Daddy a fair few times over the years and he was just as much fun as he was at seminal northern hotspots like Back to Basics and Hard Times back in the day – and I’m sure he played the Human League at one point. If you ever get the chance to hear Derrick Carter play, do it. You will absolutely not regret it. But don’t forget your dancing shoes.
I’m hoping that our days of penury are almost over. I’ve just had a change of circumstances – secret government work. I’ve said too much already – which means that although I’m probably going to have a lot less time to put this shit together, I’m going to have more of a deep-seated need to do it. I can’t speculate what this means for the quality and frequency of future posts.
Not unconnected to this, and in keeping with the interactive, collaborative and conversational mood of these Web2.0 times, I’ve decided to give a little space to the views of other music lovers on Expletive Undeleted. This’ll take the form of people writing about the records they’ve loved and lost and maybe found again, and filmed interviews with well-known artists, producers, DJs and the like talking about the same kind of stuff.
If anyone wants to put together one of these guest Hip Replacement pieces, feel free to get in touch.
Like I said, now I’ve finally a bit more money to do things with, I don’t actually have the time to do any of them but I’m hoping we get to at least a couple of festivals this summer. God and my line manager permitting.
First up, at the start of August is the Big Chill, which is just about the least moody, most civilised festival in the UK, in beautiful surroundings and with consistently incredible line-ups – one of the highlights of last year’s festival for us was stumbling upon the Ex doing mad freeform jazz with this Ethiopian saxophonist on the Sunday afternoon.
This year, live acts include EU favourites Bebel Gilberto, Terry Callier and Nicola Conte, alongside Roy Ayers, Massive Attack, MIA, the 2020soundsystem, Alice Russell, the Phenomenal Handclap Band and Roots Manuva.
A formidable DJing roster includes Andrew Weatherall, Ashley Beedle, Daniel Wang, DJ Derek, Gilles Peterson, Henrik Schwarz, Greg Wilson, Jose Padilla, Kruder & Dorfmeister, Mad Professor, Mr Scruff, Mixmaster Morris, the Bug and Theo Parrish.
As if that wasn’t enough, Spinal Tap and Simpsons legend Harry Shearer also appears, while Spencer Tunick tries to persuade as many people as possible to take their clothes off so he can take photographs of them. The awful naked truth can be seen here.
At the end of August, and a little further afield than Herefordshire is the small but perfectly formed Electric Elephant in Petrçane, Croatia, organised by the twisted geniuses behind my favourite boozer.
There’s some live music but the emphasis is much more firmly on blokes playing records – and I have to admit I’ve never heard of any of the acts they’ve announced so far, which is probably a good thing.
Among a great line-up are Messrs Weatherall and Beedle once again, Francois Kervorkian, Todd Terje, Chris Duckinfield, the Juan Maclean, Richard Norris, Moonboots and Boardman, Bill Brewster, Kelvin Andrews and the inimitable Barney Doodlebug, as well as many more including mine hosts the Unabombers.
So if you’d like to join us in getting down to some beautiful music overlooking the Adriatic alongside some very groovy people, clear your diary for the weekend of August 27-29. Get involved here.
In the meantime, top quality free entertainment for the thrifty comes from the Ministry of Truth aka VBS.tv, the online TV station of Vice magazine.
Latest content includes the launch of the Vice Guide to Film in the shape of Shane Smith’s fascinating feature on Mexican ‘Narco cinema’ – that’s cinema focussing on and often funded by drug cartels – boxer David Haye going to Africa, and a great film about pirate radio in Londontown.
Elsewhere, Stanton Warriors are rather generously giving a veritable shitload of stuff away for free over at their Soundcloud site, including their superlative Stanton Sessions sequence from 2003 as well as x amount of individual remixes.
And Bassbin Twins comes correct with some sublimely mental wonkiness in his wonderful spring 2010 mix. Massively recommended for lovers of fucking mad woozy dubbed up trippiness. Listen it on the bus, loud, and try to maintain. I dare you.
And finally, the good news for residents of south Manchester is that YeoPan’s contemporary Chinese takeaway – purveyors of ridiculously fantastic popcorn tofu with sweet chilli dip and salt and pepper chips like you would not believe – now delivers within a radius of two Earth miles.
Fuck festivals. Fuck working for a living. I may never leave the house again.
*This post was not sponsored by YeoPan’s contemporary Chinese takeaway. Unfortunately.