Warp Records does not taste of desks, claim experts

Richard "n" Judy, Boddingtons and Warp Records all quit the north for the big bright lights of, er, somewhere down south.

Nobody watches Richard and Judy anymore.  Boddingtons now tastes of desks.  But it worked in Warp Records' favour, because by moving within spitting distance of Hampstead Heath, it brought them closer to the NEWS.

Yes, that's right.  The NEWS.  It may have escaped your attention-deficit, but legendary techno label Warp Records isn't all about music.  Toward the back end of last year, they released the whole back catalogue of the legendary radio programme On The Hour.  On two glorious deluxe CD packages.

For those unaware of this classic parody series, the audio-only YouTubeness I embedded above gives you a taste of Chris Morris' paeon to rolling news, before rolling news was invented.

There are more rich pickings at the On The Hour media/events interface here.

And another thing.  If you thought radio was too sedate for you, have a listen to the Prodigy filling in for Zane Lowe on Radio 1.  You should be able to still listen to the show if you're quick, although the link was naffed up when I tried.  It should be a big year for the Proj, as I mentioned in my review of 2009 electronica releases.

Squarepusher's psychedelic number - could it send him (robert) miles off course?

Edit: This post was taken down by Blogger for copyright infringement. I have re-posted it with the offending material removed. (It was a free mp3 - and a fairly average one to be honest.) If you had commented on the post, your comments are tragically lost in the ether forever.

On the way to a festival down south, Somerset maybe, some time in the mid 1990s. We hurtle down the motorway, passing the mammoth spliff around the car. Giggles. Banter. Sinking into our seats at 70 miles an hour.

And then, the question: "Are we nearly there yet?" More giggles. Someone splurts and rails against his seatbelt. Shaking with laughter.

The driver turns his head, heaving a full 180 degrees away from the windscreen. Plumes of smoke erupt from his mouth and he grins. Teeth from ear to ear.

The driver is stoned. We're 200 miles off course. We're heading for Scotland.

It took us hours to get back on course that day back in the 1990s. Do you know what I blame for our weed-infused diversion? Psychedelic trance.

We'd been pumping out some crazy psychedelia through the car's tinny speakers for the whole journey and, with help from the drugs, we had been transported to another dimension. Almost literally.

So I'm curious, therefore, to check out Squarepusher's Numbers Lucent EP, which hits shops in a few days.

The Square one (classic album artwork pictured above) is promising a diversion of his own, into "self styled explorations of dance floor psychedelia." His record company's words, not mine.

Psychedelia? This post was going to be a review, but I can't find anywhere to hear the blasted thing. So I googled 'dance floor psychedelia', but all I got were references to trance music. That sounds wrong: Squarepusher is to trance what Kiefer Sutherland is to darts.

So why is Squarepusher promising "psychedelia"? Will it be as unlistenable as this delightfully grumpy blogger promises? ("Bloody annoying noise I say.") Are we going to get classic 'pusher rave? Or is he going to sound like - gulp - Robert Miles, the pop trance artist who's as psychedelic as a bucket of wet hamsters?

The nation waits with bated wotsits.

The Lowry retail outlet: very much not the closest thing to crazy

I've had the dubious pleasure of spending more time than I ever want in Salford's incongruous Lowry Outlet Mall shopping centre.

Now, I'm not expecting them to play Venetian Snares' greatest hits, but I have a slight issue with their muzak playlist.

Here is a typical hour in the Lowry Outlet Mall. See what you think. Have they missed anything? Could this list be any better?

- Shapeshifters: Lola's Theme (pictured)

- Sade: No Ordinary Love

- Sixpence None The Richer: Kiss Me

- Katie Melua: The Closest Thing To Crazy

- an advert for the Cadbury shop ("have a refeshing cold schnapple")

- All Saints: I Know Where It's At (mixed bizarrely with The Platters' Only You, probably coming from another shop)

- Christina Aguilera: Beautiful

- Michelle McManus: All This Time

- Kylie Minogue: Spinning Around

- Robbie Williams: Misunderstood

- Zoë: Sunshine On A Rainy Day

- Elton John: Are You Ready For Love ("yes I am, OH yeh!" reminding me of all the extra vocal bits Smash Hits used to print on their lyrics pages)

- Chicane: Offshore

- Janet Jackson: Runaway

Future Sound Of London hog the limelight. I'll be in my bathroom.

The Future Sound Of London are a bunch of selfish bumholes.

By my reckoning, they've had seven album releases in the last 12 months. Seven. I don't think I achieved seven of anything in the past year.

I probably had more than seven poos, but that's about it.

Here's the evidence. They started with the Pulse EPs, an album-length rerelease of old things they did under different names before Coolio was in the charts.

Secondly, they continued the blowing-off-the-dust theme with From the Archives Vol. 4, which boasted more than a smattering of tracks from old LPs (ISDN, Dead Cities and Lifeforms).

Environments, their long-awaited album in July, was a shuffling of old material that did a pretty good impression of the classic KLF album Chill Out.

About the same time, Amorphous Androgynous released The Peppermint Tree And The Seeds Of Superconsciousness. What's that got to do with Future Sound Of London? They're the same band.

The fifth album of the year was Yage's world-music offering The Woodlands Of Old, featuring an ex-Propellerhead on drums. Yage is FSOL's engineer. Except Yage isn't, because Yage is actually the guys from FSOL pretending to be their engineer. Confused yet?

They followed this up with the fifth volume of From the Archives Vol.5, alongside a second volume of Environments. That's seven albums, people. They are the James Pattinson of the music world.

I think they are being selfish. Hogging a whole year like that.

They also released a recording of oscillators that reacted to the movement of clouds across the Sun. They are working on a musical remix of a film directed by an Oscar-winning animator. And their gig later this year, as I mentioned in my recent 2009 preview, opens up the possibility of them performing their first new live material for 12 years.

Despite all this, I still think the only guaranteed pleasure in life is having a poo. Think on, FSOL.

mpSunday: In the latest of a series where I give away free music (now not necessarily on a Sunday), get your teeth around this Wipeout 2097 classic. PING!  This mpSunday has now expired.

Ralf not Florian: Kraftwerk creator quits amid shameful blog wordplay

Before I shine the neon lights of my wisdom onto the whole Kraftwerk situation, let me first say thanks to all the new people that have shown a little computer love by reading my blog over the new year.

I enjoyed writing my 2009 preview posts, and it seems you enjoyed reading them. My blog is now read by more people than it ever has been, so you are part of an ever-pulsating crowd clammering for a bit of Fat Roland. Well, you can have me. Every last bit of me. (I am now sprawling on my chaise longue, swooning like a fop.)

Right then.  On to Kraftwerk.
 
Florian Schneider, the robotnik on the right in the piccie above, has exited the Kraftwerk autobahn by quitting the band.
 
According to my pocket calculator, he was in the band for 38 years.  To put that into perspective, teenager-snuggling metallics-botherer Bill Wyman was in the Rolling Stones for only 30 years.
 
Schneider co-founded the band that invented every other synth band ever.  He used to ram a flute through a ring modulator.  Sir David 'Christ The Saviour' Bowie named a song after him.  That was a metaphoric ram, by the way; Florian Schneider does not, and has never abused woodwind instruments.

But still, he has quit.  Sigh.  I hope his musique doesn't stop, and although he'll never be big on the radio, activity for this model music maker should hopefully continue.  I also expect his solo projects will be far less desperate than my attempts to shoe-horn in as many references to Kraftwerk track titles as I can into this post (eight altogether - um, can you spot them?!).
 
Florian is a delight to watch on this interview from a decade ago.  He starts off reticent and bemused, and it just gets worse...

Interviewer:  Are you preparing a new album?
Florian:  Yep.  [smiles]
Interviewer:  Do you like the new generation of techno music?
Florian:  Ya.  [doesn't smile]

A mallet-pawing, arm-throating, wrestle-bashing preview of 2009 (part two)

I'd better get my 2009 preview finished before this whole New Year lark becomes unfashionable.

March.

Berlin adrenalin-techno kid (and former classical violinist, 'pparently) Tim Exile will plant his Listening Tree album.

The Future Sound Of London, whose artwork make gatefold vinyl a pleasure to ogle at, will play their first live date for over a decade at the Bloc weekender. It is unlikely to be as frenetic as Dan Deacon's live performanced.  Deacon counts a mallet among his percussion instruments, and has been taking to the stage with a synth-heavy 14-piece ensemble at recent gigs.  For that reason alone, seek out his new long-player Bromst.

Oh and former members of Plone and Broadcast have formed Seeland, who I reckon are a hot tip for 2009. When you clap ears on their debut album, you'll spot whispers of Stereolab and the BBC Radiophonic Workshop.

The rest of 2009.

One of Paul Simon's favourite bands, Grizzly Bear should give Warp Records a new album in May, or thereabouts.  Speaking of Mr Simon, I still haven't forgiven the garfunkled-one for Graceland.  And while we're at it, I'm still boycotting Sly Stallone films for the travesty that is his 1996 movie Daylight.

If I kept my CDs on shelves, with my favourite artists on the higher shelves, and my least favourite artists on the lower shelves, Plaid would have their very own shelf about fourteen miles above my house. They are putting the finishing touches to their album Scintilli, and it will be released on Warp some time in the middle of the year.

In August, Orbital will morph together for their first live performance since John Peel's Maida Vale sessions, this time at the Big Chill. As I said in this post back in November, they have promised it won't be "an exercise in nostalgia". Of course, we all know it will.

Portishead ended 2009 without a record contract, so expect some In Rainbows-style tomfoolery with their fourth album. It should be out around September.

On a more commercial tip, ex-Pop Idol contestant (spit!) and new darling of the press Little Boots will claim 2009 as her own. She's worth watching because she uses a Tenori-on, which is a pretty Japanese music making box that lights up. The same people who rave about 'Boots enthuse about La Roux.

Finally, you may need to strap me down because I am insanely excited about one particular artist.  The Glaswegian Hudson Mohawke refers to everything as "shite" on his Myspace page.  He's not being negative: he's just being, well, Scottish.

Mohawke is a new signing to Warp Records, and he flips between electronica, hip hop, electro and soul in ways that really shouldn't be possible.

Someone somewhere labelled his music as "emotronic" (probably H-Mo himself).  He's working on an album which should sound a little like this:

One of the worst days of my life

Before I unleash the second part of my 2009 preview, let me splash cold water over the proceedings and talk about the death of my pet.

A moment of bittersweet comedy happened on the day my 19-year-old cat Whiskey died.

Her death was peaceful and tender. At the vet's, I held her eye-to-eye as she entered her final moments. After she died, I left her at the surgery to go through the grim rigmorole of cremation. I walked into the cold street, swinging the empty cat box at my side. The box was a symbol of what I had lost.

As I left the vetinary surgery, with my whole world collapsed, I got in one of the numerous private hire cabs that offer their services to burdened animal owners. I eased into the back seat, and was bemused to see I had positioned the box with the front grill facing me. Force of habit. I was crying in little hiccups: I took a deep breath, and gasped out my street name.

The driver had one of those weather-worn friendly faces, with big brown eyes. He noticed the cat box and my teared face. He seemed to put two and two together. He fixed his gaze upon me through the mirror, staring right into my grief, deep into my own eyes. It was a moment of real connection, and in a thick accent, he said a few words: "I'm sorry, mate."

He was sorry for me. Truly sorry for me! He had reached out with a soft, empathetic understanding. I responded with a sob. I remember saying the only words I could think of in my sadness. "She... died."

The friendly face in the the mirror blurred as more tears fell down my face.

The taxi driver halted for a moment, then replied, "No. I'm sorry, mate. I've taken another call. You have to get out."

I have never misread a situation so much in my life. There had been no 'connection' at all. He was just being practical - I hadn't noticed him taking another job on the radio as I got into the car. And bless him, he looked so mortified once he realised how blackly comic the misunderstanding was.

My tears gave way to giggles. As I walked off, box in hand, I'm sure there was a little sprightliness in my step. Thank you, taxi man, for unwittingly giving me the chortles on one of the worst days of my life.

A throat-pawing, arm-wrestling, mallet-bashing preview of 2009 (part one)

The reverberating acid begins as a hum, the kind of hum that settles on your tummy, but it rises and rises with ferocity, up your chest, until a miffed guitar riff paws at your thoat.

And a robot voice announces: "WE ARE THE PRODIGY."

And so to 2009, and no prizes for guessing electronic music's most anticipated release of this year.

Three storming albums (Experience, Jilted Generation, Fat Of The Land). Then there was the Album-Five-Years-Ago-That-No-One-Really-Remembers-Coz-Everyone-Still-Blithers-On-About-Smack-My-Bitch-Up-Which-Is-12-Years-Old-Yes-I-Know-Get-Over-It. I don't think that was the exact title.

Anyhoo, watch out for the Prodigy's new LP, Invaders Must Die, in March.

Allow that, my sweet reader, to be an introduction to my preview of some other albums that will caress our earlobes in 2009.

My guide is in no way comprehensive, nor is it even accurate. I have probably missed a number of major titles, and quite frankly 99% of sales in '09 will be X-Factor related, so it's all an exercise in futility.

January.

The remnants of Add N To X have teamed up with space rockers Fuxa for a looping joy of a single Add N To Fu(x)a. I hope it's a taste of more to come from this pair.

Following his well-received album Just A Souvenir, Squarepusher will release an EP of "dancefloor psychedelia" called Numbers Lucent. If the Square one isn't nominated for the next Mercury Music Prize, I'll eat my slipmats.

The shoe-collecting Telefon Tel Aviv will flop out their first full-length offering for five years. When Immolate Yourself hits, it could be one of the best discs of the year.

February.

The Eft will waft its way from Samandtheplants, while Susumu Yokota - whose hypnotic The Boy And The Tree album was used liberally on Sunday's Top Gear Vietnam special - will explore a more vocal sound for his new Mother LP.

Not to be outdone by the Prodigy, Massive Attack will attempt a monumental return with the provisionally-titled Weather Underground. The double-album of "gothic soul" is pretty much shrouded in hushness, but it is rumoured by the rumour mill that Tom Waits will feature. That's even cooler than Hot Chip's single with Robert Wyatt a couple of months back.

If the Prodigy and Massive Attack had an arm wrestle, who would win? Please discuss.

Finally for February, there's Harmonic 313's When Machines Exceed Human Intelligence, but I've already covered this so I ought to hush my mouth.

Next?

In the second half of my preview, I will cover March, then skip the rest of the year really quickly as though I don't care. I do care, but you try getting accurate release information six months in advance.

I'll also reveal the artist I'm positively frothing at the mouth over for 2009. A clue? He's a genre-buster from Glasgow and he uses the word "shite" a lot.