Analogue + Digital FTMFW

You might not believe it, but once upon a time, dear reader, I was a Consumer. I didn't realise it at the time, but I was. It was during my first year as a writer at PlayLouder.com. I was getting paid 20p a word to write 8000 word articles on the ODB's criminal history, and things of that nature, and for the first time in my life I had spare money. So, like any good working class boy, I spent it. Frenziedly. I would go into central London after work, and I would buy piles and piles of DVDs and books. I bought baseball caps, rings, fake gold chains, brass Batman knuckle dusters, Wu-Wear suits, Fubu underwear (that's all my stuff in that photo up there - Steve McQueen, on the right, was dressed as me for Halloween). I'd drag it all home in huge plastic bags, then I'd go to the pub and get the rounds in. The next day I'd wake up in some skip or other around noon, drag myself into the office, crank out another 8000 words or so on the trouble I'd gotten myself into the previous night, then go and do it all again.

I remember my friend Druze telling me I should save some of the money I was hemorrhaging. "Ballsacks!" I told him. "I am on the ascendant!"

Not long after that the dot com bubble burst, and I was put on a staff contract at minimum wage. So it goes. I still have one of the brass Batman knuckle dusters, and even some of the DVDs (although nowadays its usually quicker to download the movie off of Isohunt than it is to dig the thing out of one of the many giant Tupperware crates I have stashed under the sofa), but I haven't had spare money for a long time.

In fact, I still don't - music videos and PRs and pluggers and manufacture all add up - but I have worked very hard this year, saving up to pay for my second album to get put out in a half decent fashion, and I have finally found myself in positive credit for the first time in years. So, this week I went out to WH Smiths in Stratford and treated myself - not only to one of those fine digital art magazines that have become my only vice of late, but to some new pens, and a pencil, some drawing paper. And sweet baby Jesus on push bike, has that been a revelation.

Honestly, I forgot how fun it is to just doodle on a piece of thick white paper with a nice soft B pencil, then go over it with a sharpie, and shade a bit with a 1.0 DR pen. I have been drawing exclusively with plastic on glass for years now, and I'd completely forgotten how ice paper and graphite feel together. It's messier, and you can't zoom in or control Z the mistakes, but that's the thing... you can't zoom in or control Z the mistakes. You just scribble away, and grin to yourself.

I was working on the character designs for the next ATD animated video (can you guess what it is yet?!). You might recall that at the start of this year I spent a bunch of time trying to re-imagine my avatar, after my little self-harming incident with the clippers (Zef likens it to the girl who plays Hermoine Granger in the Harry Potter films recent crop, after finally completing her tenure on the franchise), but now my awesome mane is BACK the only changes I needed to make to the bugger were the removal of the dali moustache, the addition of the beard, and a little adjustment in poise, and height. After seven or so attempts - which really doesn't take that much time when you're working with pencils and pens, compared to the seeming infinity the limitless nature of working with a Wacom inspires - I think I got him.

With that done, all I had to do was scan the thing into Photoshop, set the layer to multiply, add another layer behind that one, and paint on it. Et voila, aweosme colour. Multiply is one of the illest things I've discovered this year. You know I used to spend hours manually selecting all the white space with the magic wand tool and deleting it, right? I mean, how was I to know there was this magic setting that made white space invisible? Shout out Imagine FX for teaching me the way.

So there you have it. The moral of this story is pretty obvious. It's in the title. Analogue + Digital For The Mother Fucking Win. The future ain't robots. It's fleshpeople AND robots. We shall coexist together in blissful harmony, riding around on hoverboards in bathrobes, drinking fine wines and listening to birdsong. I'd say I can't wait, but I have the patience of an animator, fuck a saint.

RIP Pimp C.

The Day That Supergrass Split Up!


What tragedy!

Now, true, I have not listened to a Supergrass album since their second one, In It For The Money, a dissapointingly serious affair after the punk rock exuberance of their awesome debut, I Should Coco. I nicked it from an Our Price in Redditch, I think, which says something about just how long ago it was that Supergrass released their second album. Indeed, it was that halycon summer of 1997, the year before Freeserve introduced the internets to the country and everything changed, forever.

That year I was in Redditch. We did a lot of hedge jumping to that Richard The Third joint. 10 years later me and Bizzle supported them at the Dublin Castle in Camden. Warners were considering signing me at the time, and me and my band came on in crazy ninja wrestling masks and scared them off.  I got everyone in the crowd to turn around and swear at Wade, then chastised them for doing something soc ruel just because someone told them to.

What a mean thing to do to an audience!

Anyway. Yesterday's post about Penmon prompted the following from Iwan Roberts on Facebook:

Waaaw i was working on the roof there not so long ago! A french woman lives there now!

I was like, "Really?! Ooh la la! How's the roof?"

Iwan Roberts was all like, "The roof = Not well! The atic sees more light then a ty gwydyr lol"

I was like, daaaaaamn!

There's some roof-wrecking French woman living in my old house!

That's eerie, bubba!

"Ty gwydyr," is Welsh for Green House, in case you were wondering.

So, those awesome Superhero Music T-shirts are packaged up and ready to fly. My packaging game went up a levl today, look forward to that. AM getting this ish down to a FINE ART. Shout out Adam Walton who played Fly Aready! from that Superhero Music on his BBC Radio Wales show last night! Blaow!




[sleeve id="8455"] WOOOO HOOO!

It is all but done!

I am giving it a once over now, then I'm gonna play it on the Doncast at 5pm GMT!

Then I am gonna do a final master tweak, render it and chop it and tag it and zip it and up it to preorderers. And finish the art. Then up the stream.



So, the good news bought millions of you down here in numbers that KILLED THE SITE FOR 24 HOURS!!!!!!!!!

But never mind.

We're back.




A bunch of you got yours in your post boxes  today. The rest should show up early next week.


Get yours NOW!

The Wheels Of Doom.... Um, Change. Hope. Whatever.

Ola, my friends. I write to you via telephone from the back of a grimy ole train headed to London Victoria, where I shall rendezvous with my fine female companion and attend an election party. I imagine everybody there will be whooping it up in support of The Obama Man, and it will be hard for me to keep such soul destroying observations as "he will still nuke Iran" to myself. Nobody wants to hear this stuff - not even me. I want to believe everything will be glorious tomorrow, but I am a student of history, and there wont no Superman be saving anybodies Metropolis any time soon. The wheels of doom will keep rolling. Shit, even children too young to remember Nevermind coming out know what happened after Tony Blair was crowned our glorious saviour.

My woman, along with everyone else I spoke today, is confident of a democratic victory for The Democrats. But only a fool would count that vengefull Stingray extra McPain out at this juncture. Even a blind pig finds an acorn once in a while... And The Swine do own the paper-trail-free digital voting machines, after all. And all they have to do is blame the disparity between the exit polls and the election results on racist white folks, then declare marshal law when the peacenicks, the beatniks, the freaks and darkies begin to riot. It'll be just like the arse end of the sixties all over again.

Christ! Did I just write that? What a rotten trip to lay on a hopeful people, now, of all times.

Anyway. My American friends: how are you feeling right now? Did you vote? And for who? Was it easy? Was it hard? Did the machine wink at you?

For good or ill, I am very interested.

Akira The Don & The Women @ The Railway

ak-b So, as mentioned in the comments, the Winchester gig was a blast. BLAST! Jeres was on holidae in Prague, so I drafted in my ole pal B from Winchester to join myself and Brother James on the bass guitar. He had five days notice to learn the songs, and we managed to squeeze a single 2 hour rehearsal between soundcheck and the gig itself. It was ace on stilts! We made lots of new friends, some of whom joined us onstage for the final-ee of Working Together and Video Highway.

That photo up there of me and B is the only one I have - if anyone was there and took any, please do send them in, and we can have a set in the photo section.

For the LP2 gigs, we're looking to expand the line up. Dums, keyboardage, DJ, possible backing singerage. If you have these skills do get in touch, I'm gonna start doing some auditions pretty soon.


So, I got some (ha!) sleep, and I listened to the noises Birddogg was making up here while I was down in New York, doing whatever it was I was doing in New York. Like, there's some ill stuff. But one in particular is just tremendous. it is mighty. It fills my heart. And prefectly fits so many of the raps I was writing in New York, tempom flow, everything. So, what I've done, is draw various raps, and bits of raps, together, to create this New York song that's been brewing all the time I've been here. It is best I get it out now, before I FORGET. Annoyingly, the necassary component is missing. So piss.

Bad: All the stuff I bought last week - food, drink, socks, weed - is gone. Mostly. I got a lot of Ritz crackers, peanut butter and macaroni. Good: There's a Death's Head Moth on my window. (See right) Bad: There is animal shit by my window. Good: The air outside is fresh and envigorating. Bad: The air in the top level of the house, in which I am supposed to be dwelling, is thick with the stink of animal and of animal excrement.

I went to turn on the sauna earlier, and nearly trod in cat shit. Or dog shit. It could be both. Whatever. It's like, wow, sauna! Oh, catshit. Wow! Oh. Wow! Oh. Etc. So, I wanted to go into town and get a job today, to pay for my ticket back to New York, but waited about for people to come with me rather than just doing it, and the end result is it's super late now, too late to get a job anywhere, and everyone's going into town to go out, save me, who must stay at home cos he has no ID (this is a worry), and it's too far to chance not being allowed in anywhere.

A ha!

So I should write more now. I wrote a bunch earlier. Phil is worrying that Amy has forotten his ass, as she went in her tiny car to take Cecelia and James over an hour ago. But she hasn't forgotten him. It's just miles from ShanGayKen to Woodstoock! A HA!

I just asked Spiky if he has a message for the world. He said, "spitroast!" So there you go.


So, there were a bunch of updates and pictures and things, and they got wiped! Oh, the tragedy. So, a recap. On my last day on Rivington Street I saw a white thug in an open-top Hummer drive by blasting out 'I Want The One I Can't Have' and nodding along with a serious expression about his face.

Then we went.

Wade and I ended up on the coach, as there was no room in the van, or car. We got there early, and checked out the scene. The scene is small.

We don't actually live in Woodstock. We live in Shandaken, outside. Well, just outside. Half way up a mountain, hidden away by forest, amongst bears and chipmunks and what have you. In a big old dusty house full of weird porn and broken stuff, with brown water and giant ants. Like, there's a jacuzzi, but it doesn't seem to work. There is the biggest TV you've ever seen, but it's got a big black tear across the front and doesn't tune properly. It's a two hour walk to the nearest shop, whihc is a petrol station, and does a good line in biscuits. The local girl's got a lot of guns.

It is very lovely to look at up in Shandaken. Mountains covered in trees, mainly. Streams. Clouds so low you can jump up and punch them.

I miss Wade, who is back in London sorting out affairs. All my stuff is in boxes.


So I fell alseep on the sofa after 5, and was awakened gently by Super Phil at 6:20, and it transpired Bird left my bag with my passport in it at the venue last night. But Bird's got me another ID card, so we're outside waiting for Jeff to pick us up at 6:30. And at midday we're in LA, and soon after that we're in Interscope's offices,and I'm filling a bag with Nirvana, Guns N Roses, Gilbert And Sullivan, Dre, Peter Gabriel, Police and other such back catalogue. Jimmy Iovine has a signed letter from Tupac and a video console that won't switch on. And loads of ideas. A balcony. A lush view. LA is lush to look at, from these places of advantage. Like, later we visit Jeff and Trent's, and there's this fucking alien cat that loves me, and an incredible, incredible view, of this desolate wilderness spattered with money.

It was a lovely day.

But in the nighttime it is hard not to see that LA is awash with cunts. It is a sad and massive amount of cunts, and I am not sure whether it is sad because this is what the world did to them, or because this is what they do to the world, or because they are cunts, and you can see their faces rotting right in front of your eyes.


After a nice little rest, I am back in London with a pink pack of eyeballs on my case. That shit looked nice on IE, but fucked up Mozilla. I don't know what it was doing to Macs. So he will live to the right. Read a bunch of Hilaire Belloc's The History Of England Vol XI, From The First Invasion By The Romans To The Ascension Of King George The Fifth on the train. I now realise that we are living in an oligarchy. Well, a strange, new fangled sort of oligarchy masked as a democracy. With a bit of a monarchy. But it is an oligarchy, nonetheless.

This book was published in 1915, and, interestingly, predicted that Russia would do what America has. The author is also in favour of true aristocracy, and I can see his point.