The Brainfeeder / Paul Weller connection

It's easy for me to parp on about Warp Records all the stupid time, but there's another record label that is becoming a keystone of modern electronica.

Brainfeeder is the, er, brainchild of Flying Lotus, a Los Angeles producer about whose great aunt Paul Weller once wrote a song.*

Mr Lotus, or FlyLo to his chums, started Brainfeeder as radio show back in 2008 on Dublab, a not-for-profit internet radio station set up by students. The 'feeder mission, "we are here to feed brains," was reassuringly simple, and like a lot of good radio programmes, it was an excuse for FlyLo and his mates to play their own music and the music they loved.

Already with a toe in the door at Warp Records thanks to the Reset EP (used by the Adult Swim cable TV network, which means bugger all in the UK but is a big thing in the States), Flying Lotus was about to step into much bigger things.

His 2008 album on Warp Records, called Los Angeles for blisteringly obvious reasons, had other music producers salivating over his complex, urban instrumentals. I even got drooled on by HMV staff when I bought it on CD (their dribble is like acid: it stings).

As FlyLo increased his knob-twiddling respect levels to 11**, Brainfeeder morphed into a record label. Bolstered by a distribution deal with the legendary imprint Ninja Tune, the 'feeder now boasts Ras G, Lorn, Matthewdavid, Daedelus and the Gaslamp Killer among its roster.

In fact, Daedelus's forthcoming Righteous Fists Of Harmony EP is the label's first put-out-the-bunting and stick-the-kettle-on release: it should propel them into the bleep-o-sphere.

Brainfeeder is exciting because the music is so fresh and so clean. Ain't nobody dope as them. And it's a great complement to the Glaswegian DIY electronica scene championed by Hudson Mohawke and the LuckyMe collective.

To wrap your ears around Brainfeeder goodness, this Red Bull Music Academy show is a good place to start. Or FlyLo and the Gaslamp Killer's Christmas present to everyone is also worth sticking on your iPod. Meanwhile, it's not at all long until Flying Lotus' droolworthy third album Cosmogramma is released on Warp Records.

But then, I'm not parping about Warp, am I? I thought we'd established that.

* Song For Alice (Dedicated to the Beautiful Legacy of Mrs. Coltrane) from Weller's 2008 album 22 Dreams (Mrs Coltrane being FlyLo's great aunt and wife of John Coltrane).

** This is not, as you would expect, a nod to the classic rock spoofudrama Spinal Tap, but instead it is an endearing tribute to the maximum volume level on the BBC iPlayer.

Boring Pauls

In my ongoing quest to uncover the musical Pauls (see my Awful Pauls and my Gorgeous Pauls), you don't have to scrape off too much froth to discover a steaming pile of terminal dullness. Here are the boring Pauls.

Paul Stanley

Stanley Eisen was so dull, he changed his name to Paul. He then joined Kiss. If you're not sure which one he was, he had a single black star over his eye which made him look like glam-era Elton John after a hefty punch in the face. Stanley was never rock and roll, despite the Kiss persona. He hardly ever missed a show, he's had a hip replacement or two, he talked more than he played on stage, and he perfomed a duet with Sarah Brightman of all people. Crazy, crazy nights, huh?

Paul Weller

Don't get me started on the Pantene-haired Britpop-leeching plodfather of mod, Paul Weller. How he can bottle something like the Jam and let it turn into runny, tasteless like the snoozesome Wild Wood MOR dross, I'll never know. I blame Weller entirely for Ocean Colour Scene and The Enemy, two bands that cancel out anything good he ever recorded. If he was a colour, he'd be brown. And not even a good brown.

Paul Anka

You may not have noticed, but Anka's back in fashion after jumping on the Glee and American Idol bandwagons. This is very bad news indeed. He represents everything I hate about the 1950s: slick hair, white teeth, Elvis warbling and uncontrolled use of rhyming couplets (Diana alone has rhymes as tedious as 'me / see', 'say / play' and 'lover / other'). For a man called Paul Anka, rhyming couplets is a dangerous game. Except it's not dangerous: it's just dull.

Peter Paul and Mary

This trio was drippier than a leaking tap on a drizzly Sunday. They gave rise, unashamedly, to the dubious notion that the 1960s were all about smoking pot and picking flowers. In fact, the Magic Dragon they sang about really was a crappy children's song about a dragon, while Leaving On A Jet Plane led to New Order being sued in a nasty bit of solicitor spitefulness. Drip, drip, drip, the 60s are dead and so is your childhood, get over it.

Paul Hewson

Paul Hewson, otherwise known as Bono Out Of U2, is a Pope-badgering, vocal-straining, swollen-eyed, God-complexing, post-unmodern, microphone-chewing, charity-mugging, tax-dodging philanthropist with a neat line in mid-life crisis trousers and an ability to keep shouting "EDGE!" in live shows like he's got some kind of Pizza Hut tourettes whilst simultaneously making every song sound like it was recorded for an advert for life insurance for the over 70s. He is now possibly the most boring musician on earth, and James Blunt isn't dead yet, so that's saying something.

More Pauls

Surely some Pauls are redeemable? This can't be all the Pauls? What about the good Pauls? Can you have a good Paul? Jump to the Gorgeous Pauls, or click here for some Awful Pauls.