Whoo, ATD13 is gonna be the SHIT! So, yesterday, I finished my version of Ignition, which you will have to hear to believe, then Trey - with whom I made the smash-in-waiting White Whores - and Scratch, of The Legendary Roots Crew swung by Don Studios to play and listen to music and cane bones and drink Jack, which is what grown ups do, word to your sister’s mate Suzie. The stuff I heard from dude’s forthcoming LP, is fucking NEXT, Jesus. Scratch dropped some boxing SCIENCE on my dusty mike, but, yeah, you’ll have to wait for ATD13 my friends, yes you will.

Last bank holiday weekend I didn’t know it was bank holiday weekend until Monday morning, but this time I was prepared. Maybe that is why I managed to do pretty much all the things I really like doing, or takes upon the themes of. I mean, I didn’t really have to try. People were bound to come round and make noises. I could hardly avoid sleeping. I had a fucking ace sleep in the middle of it all, long and warm and deep and untroubled by nightmares. I flopped from one enjoyable circumstance to another for four days, and came out at the end of it happier, older AND wiser.

BOOM! Plus I have about ten songs all lying on my harddrive waiting to be mixed, I saw two dope movies (Elephant, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang) one not-too-dope-movie that was still highly enjoyable as it was black and white and French and starred Vanessa Paradis, I smoked some weed, I enjoyed the delights of the park in Battersea, what with its booze-addled Buddha and its monkeys and its amazing tree spirits (see above) and its drunken fishermen. I had walks. I enjoyed some excellent David Lynch moments, an Aldous Huxley moment, a Sinatra moment - a God moment… I danced a little. I got bought french toast! Serious! AND I played cricket with my neighbourfriends Jeres and Soraya, AND we got caught in a weird storm and sheltered under a big tree, AND they both fell over during the day and I never, so evidently this was a weekend of Donnisity, and I hope you all enjoyed it too.

While all this was goig on, my NY twin Madison posted a video for that bossface song of hers what is called Radiate and I played on that XFM mix I did for James Hyman recently. It is proper.

I will write properly on the morrow, but for tonight, sleep well, and watch out for those pesky chemtrails. PAX!

Firstly, RIP Desmond Dekker. Margerine cannot kill a song that good.

Now. Chris de Burgh is so wise I might just have to start posting exerts from his Man On The Line feature everyday and not write anything. Behold:

Dear Chris, hi. Just have a question: In the song “Don’t pay the ferryman”, I got why “He shouldn’t pay him until he get him to the other side”, but I can’t get why he shouldn’t “EVEN fix a price“!?!?!
Maybe it’s a foolish question, but I would like to know!!! Thanks.

I spoke in an earlier answer about some of the wonderful carpets that came from what used to be called Persia, and Shiraz is another place where there used to be wonderful carpet makers and weavers. “Don’t even fix a price” refers to getting into a dialogue with the ferryman. And I think in my song, our hero is being advised not to even distract himself or the ferryman from getting the boat to the other side. Then they can organize the price. You see, what is happening in my imagination is that our hero has gone on the boat, and they are half way across, and that’s when the ferryman demands the money. That’s also when you hear the voices shouting from the bank “Don’t do it! Don’t pay him till you get to the other side!” Because what he’ll do is the ferryman will cut your throat and throw you in the river along with all those other people. That’s the dancing skeletons and there is a sort of nightmarish scene in the background, and the thunder and lightning. And by negotiating a price the hero in the song would be saying in effect how much money he has with him. And that could cause his own death as well. So that’s what I was thinking of in that song.

Wow, huh? Now, if you’re still bored, you can go read an interview with me over at RapNews.co.uk. PEACE!

Today I mixed a bunch of songs, ate a french stick, had a meeting, read XXL, rode a tube, a bus, and not a horse. I spent a few hours in Hammersmith, which means nothing to me, and a small amount of time in Finsbury Park, which makes my chest tight, and floods my brain with memories of when I first moved here, especially when the sun’s out. I thought I saw Bastard Mark as the bus pulled off towards North East London. My belly did loop the loops.

Yo, Chris de Burgh’s got a new flash intro for his website! He’s kicking a ball! Timely!

Rah, it hasn’t even started, and this World Cup’s Already fucking with my shit. Jeres can barely contain himself. He’s going to the toilet even more than usual. I might have to flee. I haven’t got time for football! I have an army to amass, goshdarn it!

OK, I know a bunch of you are feeling this boy, because you email me and say as much, so go have a look at my wee bro Ali’s new website. It is in the midst of construction, and he is after critique. I think the colours are ugly, but what do I know?

Rah, I totally hope it is Sunny this bank holiday weekend, now that I know it’s coming, because I want to go to the Serpentine and row a boat.

Yo, I still haven’t done my email. I had to do two interviews, then this, and now its bedtime, so maybe tomorrow. Don’t hate. It’s too beautiful above the clouds to hate.

Kaiser Chiefs Frontman Hit by Car

I am sure I get bad karma for it, but when I saw that headline, I laughed out loud.

You don’t need to read it though. He isn’t dead. He isn’t even injured. It is quite tragic.

If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only ways I know it. Is there any other way?
Emily Dickinson

“I don’t like Christmas, I’m never jolly”
Solo

Once in a while, I find myself amidst, nay, in a David Lynch movie. I try to hold on to the moment, but I get caught in it, and then I forget, like I forget most things. Another old friend, from my short, but increasingly important Reddich period got in touch last night. He’s married, expecting child, running his own printing business, playing guitar and practicing his lines for a performance of Macbeth. “I’ll never forget your Grandpa George in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,” he wrote.

And I thought, what? Because I fucking did! I have no memory of that whatsoever! NONE! And I must have been 16 at that point. Or 17. Its when I started taking drugs. Maybe it’s the drugs that wiped my brain. I think sometimes that it is shame, but why would I choose to forget playing Grandpa George Charlie And The Chocolate Factory? I bet it was dope! I thought the last time I acted was in Castle Players back in Beaumaris when I was a pre-drugs teenager. Maybe its just the terrifying contempt with which I have treated my body in these past ten years. It dawned on me earlier that I eat no better today than I did ten years ago when, aged 16, I rented my first room, and bought my first 8p noodles. Charlotte says I would like lentils really, but I know I would gag if they went anywhere near me. My relationship with food is as messed up as my relationship with my brain.

I left a three legged plastic giraffe in a David Lynch movie last week. I was on holiday, then. But in the morning I made noises, noises, noises, I went to Wales, noises, noises, noises, I came back, noises, noises… I didn’t stop until his afternoon, and the silence, the gaps between the raps, came crashing down on me like a chandelier, and I have been lying here since, punctured, leaking, pinned to the earth by gravity and consciousness and a foul, unwarranted worthlessness and paranoia that has been fucking with my obviously excellent shit for as long as I can remember. And I can remember that.

“I deamt that you rang to say you were poorly and fed up and hadn’t been eating properly so I said “come home and I’ll look after you so that you can get better”,” wrote my Mother in an email the other day. “You said Ok and you turned up a while later look very chipper and not poorly at all. Soon after you arrived, lots of other people began turning up in ones and twos until the house was full of people. “What is going on” said I. “Oh” said you “I want a party and my landlord won’t let me have one so I thought that I would have it here instead.” I was having none of this and ordered every one out. You said “oh well, it was worth a try”.”

Which is true.

So. This:

Is me and two of my Women performing Thanks For All The AIDS in Cardiff the other day, rendered a physical, nay, digital memory by Jombo Rodney Dangerfield’s telephone, which still seems kind of odd, still fills me with awe. Dude also caught:

BOOM!

and the latter half of Oh! What A Glorious Thing. BOOM! is nuts! Well done that Danger. Oh! is also odd, as everyone seems to know the words, and I don’t see how they could.

In other video news, there is an Urban Ninja for hire! He is definitely a skilled ninja, but I like Lady Ninjas best. If ever I spawn, the spawn will know kung-fu by the time it can walk (I could walk when I was one, because I am ninja. I just can’t ninja cos no one ever taught me). Imagine! Now, you could argue that being a 9 and a half stone not-particularly-hench person such as my self, teaching the spawn to kick ass is just begging for rowdy brats that will do not as they are told and batter their parents and become a menace on the playground. But no! For zen and Oneness and the pursuit of progression are at the heart of kung-fu, so you can finish up that can of Hater-Ade and jump in the river bubba. At ye! Ninja babies are the FUTURE!

And with that in mind, and for no good reason other than we need to remind ourselves of these thing now and then, of the actuality of this time and place in which we live, and the dangers that face our kung-fu babans:

US ESTABLISHMENT NONCE WATCH!

* Republican County Constable Larry Dale Floyd was arrested on suspicion of soliciting sex with an 8-year old girl. Floyd has repeatedly won elections for Denton County, Texas, constable.

* Republican judge Mark Pazuhanich pleaded no contest to fondling a 10-year old girl and was sentenced to 10 years probation.

* Republican Party leader Bobby Stumbo was arrested for having sex with a 5-year old boy.

* Republican Mayor Philip Giordano is serving a 37-year sentence in federal prison for sexually abusing 8- and 10-year old girls.

* Republican Mayor John Gosek was arrested on charges of soliciting sex from two 15-year old girls.

* Republican County Commissioner David Swartz pleaded guilty to molesting two girls under the age of 11 and was sentenced to 8 years in prison.

* Republican legislator Edison Misla Aldarondo was sentenced to 10 years in prison for raping his daughter between the ages of 9 and 17.

* Republican Committeeman John R. Curtain was charged with molesting a teenage boy and unlawful sexual contact with a minor.

* Republican anti-abortion activist Howard Scott Heldreth is a convicted child rapist in Florida.

* Republican zoning supervisor, Boy Scout leader and Lutheran church president Dennis L. Rader pleaded guilty to performing a sexual act on an 11-year old girl he murdered.

* Republican anti-abortion activist Nicholas Morency pleaded guilty to possessing child pornography on his computer and offering a bounty to anybody who murders an abortion doctor.

* Republican campaign consultant Tom Shortridge was sentenced to three years probation for taking nude photographs of a 15-year old girl.

* Republican racist pedophile and United States Senator Strom Thurmond had sex with a 15-year old black girl which produced a child.

* Republican pastor Mike Hintz, whom George W. Bush commended during the 2004 presidential campaign, surrendered to police after admitting to a sexual affair with a female juvenile.

* Republican legislator Peter Dibble pleaded no contest to having an inappropriate relationship with a 13-year-old girl.

* Republican advertising consultant Carey Lee Cramer was charged with molesting his 9-year old step-daughter after including her in an anti-Gore television commercial.

* Republican lobbyist Craig J. Spence organized child sex parties at the White House during the 1980s.

* Republican fundraiser Richard A. Delgaudio was found guilty of child porn charges and paying two teenage girls to pose for sexual photos.

* Republican activist Mark A. Grethen convicted on six counts of sex crimes involving children.

* Republican activist Randal David Ankeney pleaded guilty to attempted sexual assault on a child.

* Republican Congressman Dan Crane had sex with a female minor working as a congressional page.

* Republican activist and Christian Coalition leader Beverly Russell admitted to an incestuous relationship with his step daughter.

* Republican Judge Ronald C. Kline was placed under house arrest for child molestation and possession of child pornography.

* Republican congressman and anti-gay activist Robert Bauman was charged with having sex with a 16-year-old boy he picked up at a gay bar.

* Republican Committee Chairman Jeffrey Patti was arrested for distributing a video clip of a 5-year-old girl being raped.

And then there’s the Bush family. Did I ever tell you the one about the Pappa Bush and the child sex parties? I must have. Surely.

Wow, I work HARD! Well. It’s not really work. Anyway. Today Miss OddKidd came round and we did most of her mixtape. Speaking of which, that Martian Masterpiece I helped render is online now. I repeat - Marv The Marsh’s mixtape is online now!

Yar! Anyway, OddKidd took me to a nice little Italian after that and we drank wine and ate pasta and it was GOOD. Then Dego and Pixel showed up, so we’re upsetting my neighbours and making songs. Laced one straight A BANGER earlier, now we’re in the midst of a fucking mini-Marvel Masterpiece, which is why I haven’t emailed you back, I will do it really soon, promise!

Today I am recovering from a large amount of chronic and another epic recording session starring Manchester’s finest, Enveh, newly-bearded Dego “Food” Brown, and Morty, who happens to be deep like river, word to somebodies mother.

I think we banged out another six songs, which is good going for anybodies Saturday.

I just bade farewell to the Bravecaptain. His Mary has taken him back to Cardiff. He spent his last night in London at a Bob Dylan party, at which he threw a sick-less whitey. He is a hero. A departing hero. This is sad, but probably good for my and Jeres’ livers. Bye Martin! We miss you!

I am supposed to be catching up on communication today. I have made it through about 7% of the pile. I am now going to eat roast potatoes. I shall return. Fat.

Oh shit, Cardiff was BOETH (fuck the “p”) squared, or some math-ed up shit. What a difference a year makes. That drunk ass paired down band of mine rule, you lot were awesome, and of COURSE I rule like Rick. Big up that Newport Squad, rah to the exam taking should be at home revising section, you wot didn’t get Joe Mangle but got Cut, Dangerfield’s crew, you wot kept bringing Jeres bottles of Magners, bi-coastal dudes, and blatantly all of you that did my backup raps (who needs a hypeman?), swore in unison, and shouted “fuck Pete Doherty”, that was some serious shit.

I totally kept my hat on the whole time. You know why?

Hat Hair.

That’s something my bald people’s aint ever got to worry about. BOOM!

Swansea then, has to be 10 times bigger. To that effect, I shall be bringing a squad.

Tomorrow Enveh and Dego are back in the building. We are like them cave peoples bubba, we are making you fire. Rah, my boy Pixel just hopped up on MySpace, go say hi.

PS - This tune is amazing. Cam is DEAD.

PPS - I owe a bunch of you a bunch of emails, I’m a get on that on Sunday. PAX!

Right kids, I’m off to get a train. We’re playing Cardiff tonight. Barfly. Be there, or be crap. I’ll sigil your ass, bitch.

AHAHA!

Yo, if anyone stepped into a David Lynch movie recently abd found a three legged plastic giraffe, that shit is MINE!

“My God,” wrote my Old Man. “Over a quarter of a century has passed since those halcyon days when you used to throttle your little brother Maz and push him down the stairs - we’re all getting very old.”

That’s as maybe, but I am liking this progression, myself. I just leveled up in my music making - three crazy joints yesterday, two today. Tego sent me the brand new Dre produced Method Man tune, and it’s rubbish. Well, Mef is rubbish. Beat’s nuts. So I stole the beat and rinsed it, and now it is ACE. Mef, get the fuck back on son, you look DUM down there, Iusu Grist.

Anyway, I had a lovely birthday thank you very much for all your messaging and telephoning and sending of the things. Made songs, copped an very good movie, which was a friller and and everything - I forget the title already, but it’s the new Spike Lee joint, and it is SICK, and made three times as good as it would have been by the music which is some updated seventies cop show shit and just REEKS of illness. Rah. And afterwards I went and saw Jeres and Soraya, and we sussed out a cover of Borderline which I might just drop on you soon. So. Dr Havard Davies sent me the following, which is rather terrifying:

“fi yuo cna raed tihs, yuo hvae a sgtrane mnid too.
i cdnuolt blveiee taht I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd
waht I was rdanieg.
The phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid, aoccdrnig to
a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it dseno’t mtaetr in waht
oerdr the ltteres in a wrod are, the olny iproamtnt tihng
is taht the frsit and lsat ltteer be in the rghit pclae.
The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll
raed it whotuit a pboerlm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid
deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe.
Azanmig huh? yaeh and I awlyas tghuhot slpeling was ipmorantt!”

Argh!

In other news, an English man who used to run a mobile disco, foisted a nasty house version of Kung FU Fighting on the charts last decade, and raps in an American accent is the United Kingdom’s reprasentative at this year’s Eurovision Song Contesthttp://www.eurovision.tv/. I hope the Finnish death metal entry eat him.

Oh, and the Navy are spending 10 million on advertising. That is just WEIRD.

“You can’t get a young person’s railcard anymore can you?” said my Mam on the phone just now. Which is true. I wonder what else I can’t do. It boggles the brain. I could get quite depressed about now you know. Had I inherited that particular gene. But even if I had how could I stay depressed when things like this fall into my inbox?

“Hi Adam!
I stayed up all freakin day and night making this. it has been in the back of my mind for quite some time. when I read your birthday was coming up in a day or two, I started it right away.
it is 3 am and I just finished it.
Happy Birthday. I love your Music, and your love of the world so much, A, that I devoted a lot of time to your birthday gift. I hope you like it a lot. (i had to use a couple of photo references, and my anatomy training isn’t that great, i used a reference for the body bit. i am but a learner. aren’t we all?)

(PS: “all i ever wanted was to have somebody say that i was all they ever wanted in this world and that was love” - LOVE IS YOUR MOM. you’re all she ever wanted. luckily, she got more that she ever wanted. say hi to ZEF)”

Depressed? I might cry! I aint even at the movies! I think I might go have a look at those terrapins. Thank you Kathy. Peace and love to all of you, and may your floods be but temporary!

Word up, everybody swang. This is your boy A Zilla coming at you live from Don Studios in effervescent Stoke Newington. Today we had three of Why Lout? in the building making Marv The Marsh’s Hoods And Badges mixtape. Ray Winstone was projected on the wall making mush of men’s heads with snooker balls, the air pleasingly scented and thick. That was a few hours ago. I just finished writing a little suttink suttink for the next mixtape and now, my peoples, I am giving you two things:

Zef’s Definitive History Of The New Era Cap

All you could ever want to know about your favourite rappers’ favourite cap. PDF. Serious!

Black Piranhas - Bak Off!

Dego on the beats, Morty and Enveh killing the mike, AK Donovan on the boards of rip and mix, this shit is bigness, you KNOW THAT.

OK, I have done enough for one day. Serious! Bed calls. I better dream something seriously decent. I totally deserve it.

I totally forgot about this. Last Summer, Carter Smith filmed a video for my song Patrick, which basically involved me bopping about New York all day in a big pink T Shirt. It was a fucking beautiful day, I was very happy. We got pulled by the coppers and everything, cos I was standing on the bumper of pop dukes’ jeep driving around 1st Ave.

Anyway, I forgot about the video - Patrick came out before Carter had time to do any editing.

But then today I found this in my email.

And it is really, really beautiful.

Rah, those terrapins I mentioned earlier (Yeah, terrapins Gareth from Cardiff, they were TERRAPINS not TURTLES) - they’re Red-eared terrapins. “Red-eared terrapins like to bask in the sun and moorhen or coot nests by the water are ideal basking platforms,” says Bristolzoo.org. “Unfortunately though, turtles clambering onto nests can partially submerge these fragile nests, killing the eggs and chicks.” Dark! Maybe that’s why the ducks were fucking with them. It’s war down pond!

Haha, I was just on the radio, and so was Charlotte cos she rang me up in the middle of being interviewed. I wish I’d let her speak, you could actually hear her on air, as opposed to the weird FBI van in which we did the thing, in which I could hear only Adam’s Walton’s lovely radio voice, and I bet she’d have been funnier than me. HAHAHAHA!

Today, I learned that a flaneur is “a botanist of the sidewalk”. I am one of those sometimes! One of my fondest memories is of staying up all night in Redditch with Natalie (from my arm)’s friend Kelly back in ‘96 and going to the Kingfisher Shopping Centre at 6am and sitting on a bench flaneouring till 1pm. We saw it all - the cleaners coming in to work, the shop assistants, the shoppers, and we dissected each and every one of them. After that I think we went to the pub. I guess that wasn’t as good I don’t remember it.

Oh, what! Looks like the set we recorded for Radio Wales the other day has been edited. It will be one song light tonight, due to said song’s potential for causing major “offense”.

“I can’t remember anything I’ve ever recorded or broadcast in 13 years having to be edited / censored / fucked about with,” writes Dr Walton. “Another first for Akira the Don!”

Rah, my bacon and egg pie was LUSH!

The Russian Danish Birch Pollen (cheers Dad) continues to cast its dank shadow over the nation’s proceedings, but some of us soldier on regardless. Today I forgot my alarm was set to “no weekends” - which is dumb, weekends mean very little to me. Well, all it is, is my peoples that work within the system get to see me. And I get to see them. Whup! Anyway, yesterday I did a lot of cleaning, befor heading out to chill on the 6th floor of Tate Modern, then wander about London for hours. London is amazing, when you pay attention. It looks like abroad. We wandered from the Tate to Covent Garden to London Bridge to Covent Garden again by accident and my head got blown. If you think you are in one place and you show up in another it is weird.

I keep learning then forgetting. I think I know then I notice I know not. But today my alarm didn’t go off, and my Mam and Keef and Zef showed up at midday with boxes and a pie, and I was in a dressing gown with a nest atop my head. Shit though, one of those boxes has a load of my old rap CDs in it, so I’m having a party right now popping Jay Z and Ghost and Theodore and Slim Calhoun and La Chat and shit. Plus my mam baked me a bacon and egg pie, which I did love hugely when I was small (one of the few foods I refrained from sticking in my pocket when no one was looking and burying in the garden), so I shall cook some macaroni and rock that in a bit, and watch an episode of South Park and feel like a king. I am one move away from checkmate. Well - I got one thing to do then I am done with this faze, and we can kick on up to the next. Serious - I am this close to a level up. Bvvvip!

Yo, so we went for a walk in my park, and there are only terrapins in the lake. There were 8 of them sat up on a log, looking up into the sky, waiting for the Terrapin God to come down and save them from the irritant of those brown ducks that bickered about them - after a lady duck - rude and violent in their courtship, like Friday Night Stock Marketeers.

Rah though. One of those terrapins got knocked off of his log by a beak That’s got to suck.

Hey, my Mam bought me a baby blue NY fitted for my birthday. And Keith sorted my USB holes, so I can play symphonies on my keyboard again. AND they fixed two pairs of glasses with superglue. RAH. That’s what’s up.

Haha, my boy Hugo Chavez is coming to the UK and he’s not going to see Lonely Blair. DISS! Chavez says he don’t mess with imperialists. He is going to see that Oyster Card pimping sell out Red “Blue” Ken, though. Least Ken’s funny though.

By the way, if you haven’t seen Chavez: Inside the Coup, then fire up your bittorrent and cop that shit. It is awesome.

OK, that gig we did in Menai Bridge the other night is being broadcast tonight on the mighty Adam Walton’s show. 10pm - 1am, BBC Radio Wales:

Freeview - Tune your Freeview box to 719 and listen to BBC Radio Wales.
Digital satellite - Channel number is 0117
Digital cable - NTL channel number 870
And online at http://bbc.co.uk/radiowales.

Streets is watching kid.

With regard to that rude note my landlord left me, Tego writes:

“You expect your neighbours to approach you? They see Narstie, Bashy, JTWR, Why Lout? and Taz passing in and out all day. You’re a rapper “So Solid… Dizzee stabbed in Napa” RAPPER! Face it Akira. You’re pretty unaproachable when you think about it!

Your landlord must also be scared. He probably checks your site to see when you’re out of town and leaves you notes.”

Which is a good point. I had never thought about it like that. A long time ago, I had a big row with a fellow journalist about So Solid’s treatment by the media, and accompanying establishment. She argued they’d bought about all their ill fortune, by “glorifying guns”… I thought everybody was just being fucking racist, as per. Lock Stock is “bloody brilliant” and So Solid are “scum”? BOOM! What it is, bubba, is them upper-middle class white dudes and dudesses that run shit round here were, and are, shit scared of black folks. Especially black folks with, like, voices, reflecting the ugly nature of their environments, who aren’t scripted by Carlton or whatever.

See, in the States, they’ve realised they can make fuckwads of cash off of insecure, aspirational white kids whilst simultaneously feeding a genocidal lie that, as a wise man noted, turned the Black Panthers into the Bloods and the Crips. That, and reinforcing some hunnerds of years old stereotypes that helped make most of the white world accept slavery, amongst other freakish evils.

Don’t worry though, we’ll catch up soon. We’re always five years or so behind the Yanks when it comes to that sort of dumb shit.

Speaking of which, it seems that Bravenet poll counting thing snuck an advert onto my website! SWINE! I mess with Mozilla, so I had no idea you poor IE mofos were getting gipped. I’m a kill that NOW> Anyone know of a non-adverty poll system I can mess with?

So, my pure-as-the-driven-snow Christian singist Maryanne Turner has a fan! Who does the walloping for money and likes cocaine and buttsex. Mary has “dark deep vocal”, say lady. How dope is that? I got a message off a kid from Ohio earlier who lists his favourite acts as “Creed, 12 Stones, POD, Akira The Don, The Beatles”. Serious! We are the UNIFIERS, bubba, that’s what we are.

In other news, my old man bought a house, and claims that it’s Russian Birch Pollen that’s been laying waste to the country, And my girl Sophy over in Brooklyn has made a website to stick her drawings of boobs on. Wicked!

Of course, if the swine have their way, soon you won’t be able to read me moidering about rapism, or look at Soph’s boobs.

Save the internet, yo. Don’t even think we’re joking.

Big up all my Summer people! I’m BAK like Narstie and you can tell that to the marines, serious as the letter my landlord left on my doormat. Yeah, I got “rent arrears”, but “noise and nuisance complaints”? You WOT? Hey, neighbours, if you’re reading, howsaboutyou come knock on my DOOR and complain at my FACE rather than straight SNITCHING to the big men? I am a nice man! Not a nuisance! And if I’m loud, that’s cos I’m going deaf for a living, but yo, all you gotta do is KNOCK, fool!

Sheeeeeeeet…

So, I been on baby tour innit. Well, I went to Chester with Bravecaptain and his band on Tuesday. That was excellent boozey fun, and we slept in a hostel and it didn’t have Australians in it. Weird! Wednesday we drove to Menai Bridge - BAK! - where I rapped with Bravecaptain AND Akira The Don and The Women. Which is me. And my band. BOETH, that lot, serious. It was for Adam Walton’s Radio Wales show. I believe they’re broadcasting it, er, Friday? Dunno, someone will though. Whatever, it was goshdarn LUSH in Menai. And my hotel room had a real key. No swipe! That hasn’t happened to me, like ever.

Rah though, I totally mashed my leg up doing some stupid ass rock star jumping foolishness at the end. I landed on my knee innit. I was all hyped, now I’m all crippled. Hopping up stairs and that. Mary and myself went to Beaumaris this morning and saw my Nan, and my Nan’s in better shape than me. And she has a lush garden.

Goshdarn it. I am missing Anglesey already. London is HECTIC.

First off, I’m gonna be in Chester tomorrow, rapping with Bravecaptain. Then we’re driving to Anglesey, where we’ll be playing Adam Walton’s Outside Broadcast at the Vic in Menai Bridge on Wednesday. Serious! I grew up there! If I fought you at school, come back and see if you’re still hard enough. Tenner says you are.

Yesterday was a hectic, weed tinged madhouse here at Don Studios, Envy, AKA, Enveh, The New Pun, came down from Manchester, Dego The Sample King popped in from Brixton, 14 year old grime wunderkind Morty repped Finsbury Park, and even Taz came over from wherever it was he’d been, and lo we did make an awful lot of ace music. Some of it’ll turn up on ATD13, some on Enveh’s LP, some on Dego’s tape… watch out. We are eating all your pies!

The real world is going nuttier than by the day, and I really ought to be providing a decent sweary commentary. I’m just fucking busy. All I know is we’re definitely fucking on Iran now, cos Jack Straw went. But this is no time for idle jabber. I shall try and get my head out of Fruity Loops soon. Right now though, for good or ill, I am ensconced.

Best. Song.Ever.

More in the AM.

x

Thank you Why Lout?, my ace band, the nice people who looked after us, and all of you who came down tonight. It was brilliant. I appologise for ducking out straight after and not hanging out, or even saying hello. I’ll see you next time.

I can confirm that Tom Cruise is quite, quite evil.

That’s about all. You remember the story about how Shaun Ryder killed Factory?

Indeed.

Love

Me.

Quick one - as it says up there, we’re playing a gig TONIGHT! Yessir. Come, it will be ace.

I forgot to write to you yesterday. Sorry. I was busy! I mixed a pair of Marvin The Martian songs, which are amazing. It is a lot easier mixing other people’s vocals. You can hear them properly. When I;m doing mine I am never sure if I’m hearing what’s actually there, or my memory of it, as I wrote and performed it. If you know what I mean. Anyway. It is confusing.

I recorded two songs today. One is called ‘Unlearning’, and is about, um, unlearning. And relearning. I sampled Gonzales covering Daft Punk. Maybe I put it on the next mixtape. Maybe I save it for an EP. Who knows? I am supposed to be writing my second album, but I get bored of songs easy, and since its also easy to just, like throw them at you, I’d rather do that really. I mean, half the songs on my first album, which isn’t out yet, are nearly two years old! This is what the machinery of the music “industry” does. Makes things really slow.

Fuck that though. The other song is called ‘Be There’, and my boy Dego did the beat. It is APOCALYPTIC. And a bit dissy. I don’t usually diss, but sometimes it is necessary. That will be on the next tape. As will a lady called Envy, AKA ENVEH! Who is coming down from Manchester to record some shit on Sunday. You can also expect hot new collaborations between me and the mega-hot OddKidd, the sunblocking Nimblor, the planet-esque Narstie, and lots of other people. I shall drop feed you info over the next few weeks.

Rah, it was fucking SUMMER in Stoke Newington today! I read the paper in the park again, and watched teenagers chase each other round with water bottles. They are pretty hardcore, teenagers, these days. Still. I couldn’t linger long, I had work to do.

Oh, Face and Dego’s sick partnership has spawned a MySpace page. Go check them out: www.myspace.com/degoface.

Anyway. I must dash, I am afraid. It is my intention to write another song before I sleep. Go read Jeff Wells.

“Fuck the Big Apple when I got an orchard!”
Narstie

My old man has two numbers and none of them work. I believe this is a deliberate ploy to stop his sons talking to him, so that, on his death bed, he can curse us for being crap, and give his huge record collection away to some Polish Orphans or West Bromwich Albiom out of spite.

But never mind that. Summer is here, I am skint, but Martin swung by earlier with some bread and eggs and bananas and orange juice, so I am all tummy full of goodness, AND he bought me The Independent, so I took that to the park and read it in the sun, lifting my head occasionally to watch some children beating the living crap out of each other. Life might not be a bowl of cherries, but it isn’t a bowl of shit either.

I think that it is a bowl.

In case you’d not been looking at the gigs page, or that funny flash thing on the right, or the scrolley red headline above, me and my band are playing London’s ULU this Saturday. It will be really really indie! Ladyfuzz and my dear old pals Cazals are playing too, and Eddy TempleMozzer is DJing. It’ll be ace! PlayLouder have a competition to win tickets going on, so if you wanna come for free, go over there and enter. Or just hang around outside the venue until Jeres turns up and give him some cider.

In other ME news, I have made a new background for my MySpace page, and uploaded the Chris de Burgh sampling version of Thanks For All The AIDS, which isn’t ever going to be released, not unless Chris de Burgh gets really skint and quits cockblocking me, anyway. I love you Chris de Burgh! Why do you forsake me so?

I guess that’s what happens when you love. If your heart is on your sleeve, people can see where to stick sharp objects in it. Keep it in your ribs, it’s safer. Die cool! We invented air conditioning and central heating, it doesn’t matter any more!

A-HAW! I crack me up.

Hey, speaking of big hairy Funny, remember when those cray-zee Imperialist Neo-Con Nu-Monarch Yanks promised the Iraqis freedom? Turns out it was pretty much the same freedom Abe delivered the slaves. Iraq’s only gone and got their fucking gangs. WOW! DOT! COM!

Speaking of which, remember I was telling you about Bill Gates’ plan to charge for sending and receiving emails, (which will kill mailing lists) and the government run Internet 2 (which will kill the internet)? Shit is speeding up in that area at a fucking alarming rate.

The informed layman’s view.

The arguably hysterical view (but they have been right more often than not).

The straight view.

Whaddya gonna do about it?

“To call a man an animal is to flatter him; he’s a machine, a walking dildo.”
Valerie Solanas (b. 1940)

There is a very funny interview with me up at CultureDeluxe, which you can read with your eyes. I think I was a little drunk at the time. I often am. Sample quote:

“Dude, there’s more important things than building bearksin rafts in the post-apocalypic wasteland!”

Which is true. There’s another funny one over at Kruger as well. We are talking about sex in horror movies. Again, I must have been pissed, as I failed to properly convey my opinions about Alien and womanhood. Oh well.

This is a link to Bill Shatner doing Rocket Man. It is awesome.

Emeka, who I met at a gig recently, and was very excitable and disappointed with my height, writes:

Hello Mr Donovan,

emeka x

You have been told, mates. And maybe you womeny types should have a run too. Running is cool. I have been running for ages and ages.

Damn. Imagine a person that’d open their door to you at 5am with a Fruit Corner. See, I am not so into hot drinks. But I love those goshdarned Fruit Corners.

Oh, fuck! I just thought about a person I love getting cancer. I’ve never done that before.

I don’t think much. Now I am sad. I might try calling my old man, I haven’t spoken to him in ages.

WOW, I feel it entirely important that you all watch Cartman tell his joke about The Aristocrats (apart from my Mam, who prolly won’t be very amused at all). Afterwards, read a little about the history of The Aristocrats (Mam might find that interesting).

Zef isn’t ill anymore, but Paul and Mary are! Poor Paul and Mary! I am not too bad today, thanks for asking. I just recorded my parts for The Gulag’s LP, with my less gruff and broken than it was yesterday voice. I’d like to go to the park now, but it seems kind of weird to go and walk in a park alone at this time of night with no fag or no dog. Doesn’t it?

PS - they’re legalising drugs in Mexico. Now you bad young Yankeedoodles don’t ever have to go to Europe again!

mjkd writes (or, most likely, copy pastes):

Taurus (Apr. 20 - May 20)
Happy birthday, Taurus. You have a secret admirer who may reveal themselves toward the end of this month. There may be a conflict brewing with a sibling or neighbor. It is probably a good idea to go ahead and have it out before mid month arrives. You’ll both be relieved to find mutual respect can clear the air. The peace of mind you seek can be realized by working in and around your home. Exercise your green thumb with some long-range gardening goals. Your perennials will flourish this year. Plant a tree and watch it grow. The three days surrounding May 19th should bring you the news you’ve been waiting for. A new technique applied to personal growth will enrich your life.

Which seems like good news (it isn’t my birthday till the 16th though. I’d like some Skittles, a new pair of glasses that aren’t held together by sellotape, and a new back please). I have a new technique for personal growth. I have a few actually. And I have a newfound love for non-toxic greenery. I live on the third floor of a council block, however, so I don’t know where I’m supposed to plant this tree. There’s already an ant farm in my keyboard. That’s round Paul’s though. I can’t be having an ant farm, up here, even if it is a midi-ant farm. Fuck ants, they’re far too single minded for my liking. I like potential. Ants have no potential: just a steely resolve. Ants are like creationists. Fuck an ant! Tread on ant ant! And if some bald nutter brandishing a 1920s pistol comes at you in Camden with some tosh about how they’ve done nothing to you, and how there may come a day when they’re treading on you, tell him you are unlikely to live through three nuclear winters, although Dick Cheney is, and something tells me he’d fear quite well against giant ants, even armed with a 1920s pistol.

Yeah, tell him that. And tell him it was all down hill from the red indian thing, and he shouldn’t have bought all those motorbikes.

You know what I bought with my advance?

Comics.

Rah, if I’d had CCTV installed in this flat last week, the story it would tell!

That’s an interesting thing to think, hmm? I don’t think like that normally. I am learning some new thinks. A brain muse. All I need now is a brain.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.