It's like... um... like... er... um... like Flying Lotus covering Lil Wayne

What's Flying Lotus doing covering Lil Wayne?

Lil Wayne (pictured), for those who don't know, is a gun-toting cough syrup-slurping MTV Man Of The Year rap artist who, in his own words, is "lick, like a lollipop".

Bizarre similes aside, Lil Wayne once recorded I Feel Like Dying. This is a Mary Jane toking piece of rap whimsy where Lil (can I call you Lilly?) muses on playing basketball with the moon, and when it's played backwards it seems to throw up the line "without the trousers, we are nude".

Flying Lotus has done his own version of I Feel Like Dying, which is even more blunted than the original. You can hear it on his MySpace page. It's not the first time he's covered Lil Wayne, and I'm all in favour of electronica artists doing other people's tracks.

I'd especially like Venetian Snares to cover the Benny Hill theme tune. Are you reading, Mr Snares? Will you do it? Just for me?

Back to the MySpace tracks. There's another good Flying Lotus track on there too: Prince is a very short tune that sounds like Mr Ozio dropping like it's hot on a Nintendo. Like a sexy Pacman popping blue pills instead of yellow ones.

Put that in your simile pipe and toke it, Lil Wayne.

Super celluloid stunners of 2009 (provisional)

Some of these might not be 2009. Some of them might not be films. Some of them I probably just dreamt in a blur of pot and catnip.

But apart from that, these are totally, like, the 20 bestest films of 2009. I've given each film a one-word review. Like Twitter, but even twittier.

It's provisional because I will see more films before this year gasps its last breath. I'm thinking of two in particular. That rumbling sound you hear is a Coen Brothers flick stampeding towards us at a rate of knots, and Where The Wild Things Are could just be a furry delight.

What do you think?

1. Mesrine: Killer Instinct and Public Enemy No 1. Exhilarating. (Vincent Cassel pictured.)
2. Moon. Rockwell!
3. Anvil. Uplifting.
4. District 9. Fishy.
5. Frost/Nixon. Authoritative.
6. Let the Right One In. Cold.
7. In The Loop. Sweary.
8. Slumdog Millionnaire. Fun.
9. Wall-E. Human.
10. Drag Me to Hell. Heavenly.
11. Up. Sweet.
12. Watchmen. Dong.
13. Milk. Inspiring.
14. Entre les murs. Challenging.
15. Che Part One and Part Two. Smoking.
16. The Wrestler. Grappling.
17. The Hangover. Hilarious.
18. Coraline. Buttons.
19. Bronson. Relentless.
20. Maybe 500 Days Of Summer, maybe The Men Who Stare At Goats, maybe not...

Vive la crackle: Kraftwerk drop a klanger with Der Katalog

So then, Kraftwerk's classic bleepiness has been digitally remastered in the form of The Catalogue, an eight-album box set.

Ralf Hütter has been digitally storing the Krafty ones' crumbling old master tapes for some time, so it was inevitable that some kind of redux release would end up on our shelves.

Now, don't get me wrong. Sometimes, remastered things make sense. The extra shiny bits in Close Encounters Of The Third Kind are quite nice. I much prefer the 1,400 page version of Stephen King's The Stand, if only for the trailblazing anti-hero Trashcan Man.

But what's wrong with analogue fuzziness? You wouldn't attempt an 8 bit version of Eno's Music For Airports and you wouldn't scrap your Minimoog because it oscillates too much.

I'm being too old fashioned and grumpy, and anyhoo a major music magazine has already beaten me to it with this withering review:

"Sadly, the remaster is a fiasco. The soft tones of Computer Love become sharp, the wide spaces of Home Computer contract into tunnels, and Pocket Calculator bears down on us like a spiked ceiling in a horror film.

"Equally poor is the remastered Radio-activity, where atmospheric crackles and hisses have been removed by noise reduction software. For pity’s sake, they’re part of the music!"

Five vocalists I definitely want to work with if I was a music producer who was definitely wanting to work with any one of five vocalists

Wesley Willis

Epically prolific Chicaco-born schizophrenic who reached Shaun Ryder-like heights with Rock N Roll McDonald's. Try this rhyming couplet for size: "A Big Mac has 26 grams of fat, a Quarter-Pounder has 28 grams of fat." Although his vocals were like a drunk hyena being attacked by a cabal of badgers, he brought a warm humanity that would have provided rich material for an overwrought X Factor biography piece - if he hadn't died before X Factor was invented, that is.

Dizzee Rascal

He sounds like he wants to sound like Scooby Doo. Enough said.

The scary woman from Human Nature

Let the carnival begin. Every pleasure every sin. Gary Clail's Human Nature was a strange old beast from the early 90s: a fairly standard dance track with the kind of choppy pianos that were de rigeur at the time, but with added Scary Transvestite who seemed to be dressed in the contents of 20 thousand grandma's jewellery boxes. At least, I think she was a transvestite - or, to be more accurate, drag artist. She sounded like a heroin-hit Boy George. Wait. It's Boy George, isn't it?

50 Cent (pictured)

The second most famous Jackson of all time (yes, that's his real name) decided to Get Rich instead of Die Trying, which must have taken a lot of courage. His rapping is singularly the most awful style since Robbie Williams tried to toast all over his middle eights. I think it's meant to sound lazy, but it just comes across as... well, lazy. He is the Barney The Dinosaur of rap, although in honour of that, his vocal chords should be declared the fifth element of hip hop. Despite my mockery, I would love to hear his version of Squarepusher's Red Hot Car.

Polly Harvey

The Mercury Music Prize got it right in 2001. Potato-gizzling -guzzling* sculptress Harvey is a folk singer from the depths of hell and she is wonderful. She is the most famous saxophonist not primarily known for playing the saxomophone. Her vocals are like felt drizzled in acid. She is definitely not to be confused with the depressive member of East 17, nor with the failed footballer and So Solid Crew MC, nor with the rabbit from Donnie Darko that tormented Jimmy Stewart as he jumped off that bridge (I think I got that right).

* Edit: I preferred 'gizzling'.

Kelpe and Klimek: from the faded to the filmic

Cambio Wechsel is the third album from Kelpe (pictured), who, as you can see from that link, needs to update his website.

There's plenty of head-noddingness to the ambience, especially with the thin Woodstockian groove of After Gold and the Prefuse-infused buzz bass of Eye Candy Bath.

The seaside cheefulness of The Blankout Agreement is a little underwhelming, but spiralling from psychedelia and radiophonic samples to post-rock hip hop in the course of one album is pleasing - in fact, it's frequently scrumptious.

The whole effect is like listening to a postcard from a long forgotten era, and you can just make out the words Music Has The Right To Children on the postcode. I just wonder if it's sometimes a little too slight and faded.

Klimek also throws an album at us this week, in the expansive shape of Movies Is Magic.

It's filmic. Crikes, I've called Klimek 'filmic' before, but that's the whole point of this album. The idea of producing an album of cinematic audio vistas is not new - just ask David Holmes - but this is epic stuff. It's pretty much what I imagine it's like to hear the whole universe at once.

Tracks like Pathetic And Dangerous and the fabulously-titled Exposed To Life In It's Brutal Meaninglessness sway and wash against the surround-sound speakers.

Others, such as opener Abyss Of Anxiety (Unfolding The Magic), are darker, danker, and much less multiplex, giving this album much more crunch than ambient music often offers.

68 million light years into inky space: Hyperdub is five

If this decade leaves one solitary thing lingering in the world of dance music, it's the evocative urban hauntings of dubstep.

Somehow mashing the bassment ghostliness of slower Massive Attack and the simple languar of techno circa Trance Europe Express, dubstep has trodden a stubborn path.

It has nodded like a gentleman toward the grime-ridden streets of urban R 'n' B and even (via Burial) tipped its hat toward bassline diva vocals. But the genre has remained true to itself - and, some would argue, a little stuck in the groove of late.

Still, that hasn't stopped leading label Hyperdub releasing Hyperdub 5. As you have already deduced, it's a five year celebration of the label that kicked off with Sign of the Dub in 2004 by label boss Steve 'Kode 9' Goodman (pictured).

The compilation features some exclusive gems and old favourites (some of which are on CD for the first time), from the cardboard beat of Zomby's Tarantula, to the heroin-hazed Psycho stabs of Kode 9's Time Patrol, to the broken vocal swoops of Burial's Fostercare (think Maxinquaye flung 68 million light years into inky space).

It's the first time Burial's dug up anything new since Untrue in 2007, and for that alone, Hyperdub 5 is worth more than a few of your pennies.

In the belly of the beast: a week in Tory politics

I had the "pleasure" of creating a bookshop for the "nice" delegates of the Conservative Party Conference.

I researched and ordered in about 20 grand of political books, most of them with a "certain" political bias, and then had to spend the best part of a week at the conference "enjoying" myself and "hob nobbing" with Tories and media types.

The thing with these conferences is everyone is very "polite" and no-one quite "says" anything. I also think they're a bunch of "Tory fascist blueturds" and "if I ever have to do that again, I will run screaming through the Arndale centre with fourteen machetes and a mechanical woodchipper".

Having said that, I did quite enjoy myself. Here are my tweets from the event, edited and expanded for the purposes of a blog. I warn you now: there is a lot of pathetic name-dropping of people I never really cared about before now.

The tweets in all their horror

Friday

From Monday, I will be a Tory Party Conference delegate. I am selling books. And my soul. Yay, go compromise!

Sunday

I already have Boris Johnson's dad's number in my phone.

Monday

I'm inside the Tory Conference. Actually inside it. It's like a pro-fur poor-hating Matrix. So far. i've had (and squandered) the chance to punch Eric Pickles, Boris Johnson and, um, Jon Snow.

I turned down the chance to have lunch in the Hilton with Damon Hill and lots of Tories. My political prejudice trumped my F1 love.

A Radio 5 presenter is having an animated discussion with John Redwood about the interview they'd just done. Fight, fight, fight! ("If I'd known you were going to mention Europe in the interview, I would never have done it.") More media celebrity spotting: Krishnan Guru-Murthy nearly got run over by a bus; Nick Robinson is hurrying around looking lost; Jon Snow looks like he rules the place. In fact, Jon snow has this amazing, quiet, very very tall authority. And lazers shooting from his eyes. He rules the WORLD.

I like the Tory posters. BYE BYE BUREAUCRACY! PEOPLE POWER! SOCIAL RESPONSIBILITY YES STATE CONTROL NO! KILL POOR PEOPLE! etc etc.

Tuesday

I'm the belly of the beast. The 'Gordon Brown's Porkie Pies' butchers have arrived. We're next to them. Also, fewer people in Maggie masks than yesterday. Evan Davies and his mates have just been down to my stall joshing and larking like they're in the Beano. Yargles!

John Pienaar has a massive moustache. It's bigger than him, and he's a BIG MAN.

I've just been interviewed by a louche Beeb journo. I really shouldn't have been so negative - don't think they're going to use it. I said I was surprised that people seemed pleasant, and he got all defensive and said ACTUALLY the Conservatives are very nice people. (I haven't met a horrible person yet. It's not just false politeness - actual genuine warmth.)

PETER HITCHENS. IT'S PETER HITCHENS! WHERE'S MY GUN? AAAAARGH! Yes, yes, I now have met a horrible person.

Bob Stewart has just told me, "Always look on the bright side: no-one's died." This, coming from a commander of Bosnian and Northern Ireland forces.

The best author signings are where the author works his crowd. Michael 'House Of Cards' Dobbs is a real showman, if a little Dan Brown-y in his writing. (Actually, it's Brown who is a little Dobbs-y.)

The pro-hunting debate deepens: David Cameron is literally running around a in fox suit shouting "RELEASE THE HOUNDS".

Jeremy Paxman: "I was with my brother at the weekend, scattering my mother's ashes." Stanley Johnson: "Is she dead?"

Jeremy Paxman: "Tweeting is an activity for people with an inflated sense of importance and absolutely nothing in their heads."

One Tory told me the BBC was a waste of money because it took EIGHT people to shoot a Daily Politics OB. ("They only need a cameraman.") Good job he wasn't around at the end of the conference when the Beeb accidentally smashed in one of their soundproof booths.

Wednesday

Quentin 'Daily Mail' Letts is getting all misty-eyed about the days of hanging and flogging. Well, Letty-babes, this could be your lucky day. (This, in retrospect, could be considered a death threat. I didn't type it. It was my evil twin brother.)

For sale: one photograph ID pass for a major Manchester event with a day left to run. Buyer must look like a clean-shaven Johnny Vegas. ...I am transporting some right-wing political books, on Oxford Road heading towards GMEX. If you see me, please mug me.

Paxman again. He's like a persistant puppy. Down Paxman! Get off my leg, Paxman! No, Paxman, not the hamster! (Pictured with Boris' dad.)

Paxman just called someone a "feckless parent" for letting their 12-year-old stay up to watch Newsnight. He's the ultimate grumpy old man, with more than a dash of very sharp wit.

New Statesman talk titles: "Real Freedom Or Care On The Cheap?" "Should The Public Trust The Police?" Er... duh!

Wednesday evening

I'm checking out Jerrod Cooke and Ryan Barber's Bo Jazz live sketch show, featuring my flexi-faced colleague Curtis Cole. It's a great mix of comedy talent, but I think it's better for the stage than for BBC3. A nice break from Tory bookselling

Thursday

The media are all looking tired. Four conferences in a row (including the TUC conference) have taken its toll on this portly bunch. Speaking of portly, Nick Robinson is, um, bigger than I expected him to be. There is a *lot* of pastry going around at this conference.

Incidentally, this conference has *all* been about the media. There are cameras everywhere, and it's all about how it looks on TV.

Next time someone pays with a note to buy a book, I'm going to pause with the coins above their hand and ask: "Ready for change?"

A prominent Northern Ireland politician's comedy response to enquiries about his poorly leg: "I was knee-capped." Too funny.

A Question Time regular didn't need a bag for his book, although he added with relish: "It'd annoy the environmentalists if I took one." Tosser.

Official bestsellers at the bookshop: 1 Total Politics Guide To The 2010 General Election; 2 Matt 2009 (Telegraph cartoonist); 3 Wolf Hall, the Booker winner which we conveniently had a massive supply of.

David Cameron's speech, during which I had work to do (read a live tweet of his speech - scroll down here.)

People are willing to wait 90 minutes for Cameron's speech. I wondered what their expectations are, so I asked them: "Steady as she goes, don't frighten the horses." "Honesty." "Straight talking." "Fairness." "Give it to us straight."

Warm-up music: Keane and Stereophonics. It's not quite D:Ream. (I'm not in the speech hall: just next door.)

Bono?! Bono?!?!? That's outrageous.

I've just popped into the speech. Blah blah blah. Everyone looks bored. The sound has gone on the overflow broadcast and no-one seems bothered. If the cameras follow him out of the room, look out for me, he'll come my way! (He didn't walk past us. He ascended unto heaven like a fox-hunting, lying, fascist Christ.)

What the papers won't tell you: in the toilet 40 yards from Dave, there is a man plucking the grey hairs out of his moustache.

So that's it. The messages on the floor? Low taxes, old fashioned values, anti-Brown and not a lot of love for Cameron. I stay opposed to a party for the rich that gives the state over to big business. Value Thursday's G2 supplement: you'll need it come May.

Pack-down done. I have gained the most confusing poster ever (pictured), a blackboard, a book trolley and free Tesco buns. I need a mental & physical shower. Thanks for reading: the Tory tweets end here. I respectfully ask my newly acquired Tory followers to, in the nicest sense, f*ck off.

All the pictures I took can be found on my new Flickr page.

Vanilla, Pistachio, Strawberry Swirl, Caramel Chew-Chew, BLOOD

I have neglected this poor old blog recently. It's been more like Attitude magazine and less like an uninformative, lazy swagger through the mucus-infested bowels of electronic music.

Let the staggering resume.

Hey! Look! It's a three-dimensional Squarepusher! As opposed to the two-dimensional one you saw at the Warehouse Project last year! Have a look at more 3D electronica photographs on the Bleep Blog here (all courtesy of Anti-Limited).

Hey! Look! Remember Butter by Hudson Mohawke, covered by this blog last month? You can win a spreadable version of the album: a double vinyl copy of Butter with a T-shirt and sticker in a customised butter tub. Just tell competitions [at] vinylfactory.co.uk which of the following is not a well-known hairstyle:

a) Mohawk
b) Crew Cut
c) Star Crackout

What the hell's a star crackout? OH. Sorry. That's the point. Don't read this paragraph; it may ruin the competition.

Hey! Look! Fat Roland blogging chum Dave Hartley (his pets pictured above) has been shortlisted for a Manchester Blog Award!

Yeah, that last one was nothing to do with electronica, but I'm just trying to throw a mate a fricking bone. WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT? BLOOD? SMOOTH, CREAMY ELECTRONICA-FLAVOURED BLOOD? Jeesh.