So after smashing it at the Spare Rooms last Friday night we’ve been asked to return on a regular basis, so add that to our regular Saturday night at Bootsy Bellows that’s two residencies now. And we start our third, at the relaunching Hooray henry’s next Wednesday. MIDNITEMEN are on track, on point, and primed for a hostile takeover of LA nitelife. SPLASH.
This week has been very very wavy. We played a private airport on Monday…
…Wade hired staff for his new club on Wednesday, and we ran into Swae Lee from Rae Sremmurd, whose No Flex Zone we remixed way back in May before anyone had heard of them(apart from those soothsaying Southern Hospitality geniuses)…
…I later hung out with Grant and Kristan Morrison at Meltdown, whose owner it transpired ran the comic shop from True Romance. Also Kristan hipped me to the crazy phenomenon that is Demi Moore’s Bush, which was kind of emotional…
…I walked 5 miles from Hollywood to Echo Park to see Gruff Rhys’ movie and watch him play a perfect, beautiful, emotional and highly edumacational set on Thursday…
…started work on a huge record with a Swedish Pop Star this afternoon…
…and tonight we will play our second night at The Spare Rooms upstars at The Roosevelt.
None of this has left much time for blogging, but I endeavour to write something substantial for you soon.
So we’re doing this tonight, which will be fun. BOWLING ALLEY PARTY SHIT. Gonna go old school and play swinging shit to sip milkshakes and spin your partner round to in some fuckin flourecent pop socks. Then tomorrow we’re doing the back room at Bootsys, where we’ll be playing a MIDNITE PARTY SET which will involve classic rap shit from the 90s to now, and general peak party shit to dance on tables to. If you’re in town holla, it would be swell to see you.
One of 2014′s defining musical moments gets the PEAKWAVE treatment. That RICH GANG ft Young Thug and Rich Homie Quan. WOO! WOO! Couldn’t see we if you had a genie. SPLASH.
RIP OLE DIRTY, LOVE YOU ALWAYS
LA HOMELESS IN BED OF THE YEAR AWARD SHOCKER
I’ve already mentioned how the LA homeless are the most disproportionately tanned, cut, and good looking I have ever witnessed. Well, today I jogged past this mattress on the side of the road on my way up to Runyon Canyon. CLEAN SHEETS. PILLOWS. And flipping CIDDLY TOYS. That is some next level homeless swag. I am stunned. I wonder how long it’ll stay in that condition for. I shall monitor the situation. Check back for updates.
I told you how on Halloween we stayed in making this Theophilus London joint and then stepped out on to the Boulevard to check the scene, which was like a World War Z montage populated by a kaleidoscope of every cartoon, myth and monster of human imagining, after which a series of weird events lead to us hanging out at Theophilus London’s house till 6am right?
LA is super nuts like that. We were parting with the Swedish Hollywood Mafia the other night. In one room there were like 8 blonde people responsible for 320 million records sold or something. They had about 50 bottles of hundred dollar vodka and no mixers so we drank it straight like telegraph poles and nobody fell in the swimming pool.
Anyway. here is that remix. We played it on Saturday at our Bootsy Bellows residency and it went off. As did I Like To Cha Cha. Have you heard that? it’s my favourite. We might have to remix it.
If we have time. Much to do this week. We’re prepping to shoot a mini space movie on Saturday, after which we’ll be DJing at the aforementioned Bootsys. One of the shots requires us to be in weird techno organic space thrones with tubes piping audio sound into our heads, so if anyone knows an LA based proppy person that could help us realise that particular dream, please get in touch…
So I swapped the beach for the boulevard, but I am still getting my sacred podcast time in. Last night I ran all the way to Laurel Canyon, crossed the road, and ran back again and didn’t encounter a SINGLE RED LIGHT. It was insane. I literally ran through dozens of traffic lights, and all were either green, or counting down to red. It was fucking surreal. I thought I was in a dream by the end of it. I couldn’t feel my feet anymore and seemed to be bouncing on air in slow motion like Jon Carter on Mars. I guess these illy shoes my babygirl got me help. Here they are hanging out with Chuck Norris:
Now here’s a photo of Kiera Knightely’s boobs. Not sure I approve to be honest.
Well damn son that went quick. It feels like I just landed, but here I am heading into my second week in Los Angeles at the speed of a greased up bullet train. The sun is beating down like an angry policeman, the Spider-Men are warring for territory on Hollywood Boulevard outside the apartment, I’m up here on the 7th floor finishing a MIDNITEmix and my MIDNITEbrother Wade is off being interviewed about the new club he’s opening in West Hollywood where we will be hosting a series of weekly MIDNITEparties and you’ll be able to sing karaoke and sip fine cocktails in the manner of a sophisticated warrior king slash queen. Gas mark infinity.
We’ve already scored ourselves a couple of DJ residencies – you can catch us every saturday DJing the Bootsy Bellows back room in West Hollywood, the first of which is a very peak midnite till 2 am turnup, the first of which we did last week, a wonderful and joyous experience I look forward to repeating. The second is a rather sophisticated affair, starting this Wednesday in the opulent confines of Harlowebar, where we’ll be playing timeless classics and luxurious jams from 9 till they shut the joint. Look out for more, we intend to work our asses off across the full kaleidoscope of our musical souls. Shit, we played an art show the other day, before going on a rampage at the amfAR gala where we hung out with some Sheiks and Mobsters and Champagne Salespeople and Russian Pop Stars.
I had a pretty good routine going back in Colwyn Bay, and I’m starting to get a nice one going here. I walk up Runyon Canyon every morning – on my first hike I ran into Richard Bacon, most auspicious as not only did he give me my first record of the week on his XFM show back in the day, but my little brother is a huge fan of his podcast and had only that week been telling me how he’s just moved to LA and seemed to frequent the same spots as me. We had an encounter of sorts that evening also, as if the point hadn’t been underscored hard enough.
I’ve yet to find somewhere as perfect as Rhos On Sea beach to run, but I’ve been running around the hood, and walking 8 miles to West Hollywood for meetings and DJ gigs most days. Its a pretty amazing area to live. Aside from the territorial wars executed by the myriad Spidermen outside the flat, there are the premieres, random encounters and the crazy things like Marvel announcing their Phase 3 shit NEXT DOOR while I’m making my eggs in the morning, making me long for a time machine with which to visit my 8 year old self to tell him how all his dreams come true.
We stayed in on Halloween working on a Theophilus London remix… well, till midnight, then we finished as we’d finished the track we figured we should have a look at what was going on outside, which turned out to be the most insane and intense gathering of costumed insanity I have ever experienced. Bizarrely (for LA) it started raining, so as the monsters began to melt, we ducked off the boulevard into what turned out to be some kind of ultimate Hollywood Costume Party, where the roof collapsed under a tsunami of water and the assembled took the opportunity to dance in the ensuing waterfall with glorious abandon without missing a beat. Naturally, and entirely coincidentally, we ended up at an afterparty at Theophilus London’s pad, because that’s what happens when you’re Walking With Allah, as Malcolm X has it. I returned to the Studio of Dreams at 6 am, slept a few peaceful hours, then walked to the top of up Runyon in the blazing sunshine listening to the latest Joey Diaz podcast, laughing until my ribs splintered.
I miss my family, but we will be together soon. Hercy hasn’t forgotten me yet, but he does get mad at me when a random drunk forms like Voltron with the time difference and we don’t Skype for 24 hour hours. It must be a very strange thing to have your father who you see every day and takes you on bike rides and pushes you up a hill every morning turn into some weird digital apparition who pops up on a computer screen in the morning and late at night with different coloured sky to you. I’ve gotta get him a garden. He deserves a garden.
Right, I gotta run over to West Hollywood now and work on my destiny. And that garden. Love to you, wherever you may be. Its a beautiful day. Let us rumble.
This is one of those situations where I really wish I’d had a good three hours to write a proper, long, well structured, comprehensive, erudite, soulstirring blog post, but as it is I haven’t even had five minutes spare to do crunches since we left Wales on Saturday and I feel weird, bubba, having not done any exercise for three days, after doing lots of exercise every single day since, what is, April?
It was a unnaturally long Summer in Wales, in which I walked up a mountain into the woods every morning, ran on the beach every night, and did pull ups and swung off bars like a monkeyboy. Hercules and I even spent some time doing interval training in the skate park, me launching him up and down the half pipes in his battered little buggy at savage speeds as he whooped and hollered with the joy of a boy who knows full well he could probably get severely injured any second.
I got in shape, and I spent precious, joyful time with my family during the finest british summer in living memory. Then Autumn went flump, and now my ride is here. At 3:30 I’ll board a plane bound for Los Angeles, my wordly goods whittled down to only those very very essentials that I can carry. Charlotte and Herc will remain here for a few months, while I mount the hill and fight the proverbial Indians, and I will miss them and they will miss me, and Herc will undergo great change that I shall not be present to witness, but through the ghostly digital curtains of Skype, and we will be reunited, and it will be glorious. Two months is a blink of an eye in a lifetime. Well, a gods’ lifetime maybe. But it will pass fast, and we will be stronger, and we will be living in Los Angeles, with the sun, and the Mickey Mouses.
The day I left Wales was, by force of glorious serendipity, the day me and Herc’s new pal Ryan – an aspirant MMA fighter and former Young Sausagemaker Of The year who works in the butchers – had the fight he’d been working up to the whole time I’d been working up to this move. After months of pushing tractor tires up hills, getting buried up to his tits in sand whist doing twisty crunches and getting his nose broken, he spent his last week trying to lose half a stone by drinking 7 litres of water a day and having salt baths, while I carted boxes into storage, sold all my stuff on Ebay and whittled my possessions down to a small pile I could fit on a plane. It seemed our destinies were somehow linked, and the direction of my life would be confirmed by the outcome of his fight.
I was sad I was going to miss Ryan’s fight, but it was my Nan’s 90th birthday party in the midlands. How fortunate that mere days before I emigrate my Nan has a surprise 90th birthday party, attended by all my family on my Mamma’s side? Amazing. So on Saturday morning, as the sun rose over the cliff tops, I took one last run along my beach, packed our SAAB, and drove to Redditch.
It was a very joyous occasional. What a privilege, to see my Nan, the eldest of thirteen, surrounded by three generations of humans that would not existed were it not for her. To see my Mum, surrounded by a similarly indebted two. I had worried my presence might sour the occasion, but I needn’t have ’t drank and were merry. Charlotte and me and Uncle Maurice were last to go to bed. I woke next morning to a decimated bottle of Raspberry Absolut, and a Facebook message from Ryan:
Knocked the guy out in under 10 secs, paramedics had to bring him round, ko’d in the cage for 6 mins, he said he cant remember being in the cage. Check the vid on my wall, hope your adventure is going well and all the family is safe. Farewell brother.
Everything, in the words of Tiny G, is gonna be OK.
Ladies and gentlemen! It is my great pleasure to introduce to you, ATDLIVE! it’s my all-new live mixtape series, which some of you might have caught me executing the other night on my Mixlr… The idea is to build it into something that capture the spirit of those early ATD tapes, where I’d mix my favourite new music with my favourite old music, drop my own new tracks and remixes, and bust out occasional freestyles… but all done live on the decks, no sitting around automating things in a DAW, just raw PARTY SHIT.
Tracklisting’s down the bottom. Get your free download by clicking the little arrow on the top right of the soundcloud player, whose blurb reads as follows:
Praise Xenu, Baby Jesus and Batman! ATD returns with an all new mixtape series, ATDLIVE! An hour of amazing (mostly) new rap Mixed LIVE in Don Studios V, Rhos On Sea, a week before ATD emigrates to Los Angeles, where you’ll be able to catch his ex pat ass playing ultra peakwave sets in LA’s waviest nightspots.