The Tour The Tour Day Twelve: Nottingham, Rock City

Phase three began in earnest today. Suddenly I was acutely aware that there was less tour ahead of us than there was behind us. Set Dressing Tim Gibson of The Mighty Mutton Chops was in the house, chilling at a 27% angle behind the shiny wooden steering wheel. We were driving to Nottingham, taking the scenic route through the Peak District, blasting rap music, guzzling Costa Coffee (6/10) and scoffing down the scones Tim had made. For the record, I say Scone, like bone and Tim and Jack say scon, like gone, which makes them rabid poshos as far as I can tell, but I forgive them.


We stopped by a big ass lake where some kids were bouldering, which I learned is a bit like rock climbing but on a smaller scale. Tim bounced from rock to rock like Gollum, scooping brown pete water into his face and delighting at the tunnels, while City Jack ambled peacefully along like some giant Zen Buddhist, making ooh and ah noises with regards to the distinctly epic view. It was bloody windy up there, I thought my head was going to come off. Just like when I was little. Wind like that doesn’t care for cities.


Further along our journey we stopped off in a little riverfront town full of bikers and fish and chip shops, to cop some fish and chips and refrain from stealing the bikes as our Grand Theft Auto honed instincts ordered us to. We happened upon a shop full of golliwogs and mugs with golliwogs printed on them. We were amazed. Tim was the most amazed. His eyes bulged on stalks like Tex Avery cartoons as he studied the packaging, and found them to be brand new, 2011 dated golliwogs. “They’re not even antiques,” he gasped. “They’re new! Who makes these things? Who goes into a warehouse and says, yes, we need all those golliwogs for our riverside shop?”

What amused me was the placing of the golliwog mug next to the bald Nazi prince mugs. That shit was so perfect, so beautiful. I couldn’t have made that shit up in a hundred years.

In the Travelodge I did some work while Tim and Jack watched Willy Wonka and a bit of Back To The Future, both excellent films. That Willy Wonka shit seems to get better and better as the years go by. Jack remarked that he couldn’t believe how badly Tim Burton had fucked up the remake, to which I replied that Tim Burton hasn’t made a decent movie since Edward Scissor Hands, apart from maybe Big Fish, which was pretty good. Now I think of it, Big Fish is pretty much the only movie Tim Burton’s made in the past two decades that didn’t have Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter in it. That guy has the laziest casting this side of Martin Scorsese.

Nottingham is another of Jack’s favourite cities. It’s a rap city, apparently. People in Nottingham love rap. Jack loves rap. Therefore Jack loves Nottingham. He looked positively beatific up there on that stage, with a nice shiny mixer he’d borrowed from the soundman, who was a deeply safe individual and very good at his job. A deeply safe and good soundman is like the flipping holy grail on tour. If we had a guy like this everywhere we went we’d have nothing to worry about. Not even Jack’s wiring.

The gig was another flipping smasher. A packed house, a party atmosphere, a table in the middle of the stage for me to climb on. Barrier at the front with kids pressed up against it, whose heads I rested on as I delivered a set more like sermon than anything else. It went went beautifully. My vastly improved diction plus the excellent soundman meant that people could actually hear what I was saying. I could tell as they laughed at all the funny bits. There were many beautiful squads of genuine ATD people in the crowd, who knew all the words and requested songs that we then played. I dedicated a song to one such pair and got the girl’s name wrong. I’d written Tinley on my arm, or at least I thought I had, but the T was really a K. I felt bad, but I DID remember that the dude was called Corey. You don’t meet that many Corey’s in real life. It is always special.

We introduced Werewolves to the set in Nottingham. It was a righteous last second decision. We’d just bought the house down with AIDS, and I said, yo, Jack, let’s do Werewolves, and he said, “well it’s a good job I just found that,” and off we wrnt. AOOOO! The good people of Nottingham, did a most excellent and harmonious ”Aooooo”. Music to mine ears.

We finished by getting Lars onstage to do Living In The Future with us. Always a special moment. Lars wore a shit eating grin and executed his rhymes with glorious precision. “Give it up for Akira The DON!” he said. They gave it up for Akira The Don. They gave it up for Jack Nimble. They gave it up for Richard Whitely. They gave it up. I was proud of them. “Tonight,” I mused, “we are all The Don.” They agreed, noisily. We exited the stage damp, and joyful.

MC Chris treated his set like a battle tonight. He was on that Chilly G entertainment Is War shit.  Some night’s most everybody in the room will know MC Chris and all his songs. Some nights less. Tonight was in the latter, and when it’s the later, you get Evil Chris, and Evil Chris is on some formidable shit. Evil Chris VS The Audience is an amazing thing to see. A handful of unfortunates got the brunt of the Evil Chris Force, amongst them a woman who got C worded. This lead to her enraged boyfriend hunting Chris down to his merch table after the show to threaten him with death. Jack and Tim appeared at either side of him like guardian bouncers, but I don’t know if they’d have had to do anything. Chris was very apologetic. He was genuinely amazed that anyone had taken his evil routine seriously.

The Weerd Science saga took a new twist today. Science had emergency dental surgery that morning, and could thus barely talk, let alone rap. His swollen face bobbed up and down at the side of the stage for most of the gig, but it did not grace the stage, much to the disappointment of the many new fans of his I’d met that night who’d heard Sick Kids on the internet and couldn’t believe how flipping great it was. “Technically, I haven’t heard a new emcee come that correct since. Ortiz,” said one head. “But he’s better than Ortiz. And he’s not annoying.”

Regardless this left Lars without his right hand man. Not that any one need have worried, because it left Lars to do to do what he used to do . Lars is, after all, a flipping Pro, 8 years deep in this rap shit. Backed by the mighty JTL on drums, he delivered the first pure Lars set of the tour, and the kids loved it so much I thought they might explode. I joined him for White Kids Aren’t Hyphy, and clambered a speaker stack. I didn’t mean to, I just saw it, beckoning me as I walked onstage, so I climbed it. Do you ever get that? Is it a boy thing? I get it all the time. Walls, trees, whatever, if they look climbable , I tis my instinct to climb them.

After the gig we shared Chris’ smokey apple, and bantered merrily.

Back at the hotel Jack and I forced ourselves to stay awake and watch Ultimate Avengers. It was totally worth it.


Photos by Akira The Don, Tim Gibson, Drew Manoram & Chris_CSP

Peeling Celing

Wandering home at 1am or whatever it was this morning as the snow cascaded down in great clumps, I looked up into the sky and felt blessed.

This morning my hangover and the sub-zero temperature inspired a somewhat less grateful response. Our house, full of holes and cracks as it is since next door got knocked down by a goddamn steel boulder on a chain, cannot contain heat for more than an hour, and we've never been able to work out how to automate the central heating, so mornings are intense affairs these days. But never mind that: snow is fucking with our T shirts! This just in from my supplier:

Hey, everything is on standby due to the snow. Plain tees can't come in and nothing can get collected. More snow is forecasted, so it's with the gods I'm afraid. Sorry for not letting you know sooner.

This country's inability to deal with cold weather every goddamn year is yet another example of how crap our so-called civilisation really is. Now I'm going to have to get some special extra stuff together to put in your packages when the things finally arrive to make up for the delay. Cot-damnit!

Still, productivity is high like Giraffe vajayjay over here, and exciting stuff happens every second. We had a meeting to organise The Life Equation's sleeve shoot last night, which is going to be a thing of intense beauty and a timeless work of art. And when I got home Mary Wycherley had sent me through the photos she took of me a few weeks back and they are ace. Some of them are downright incredible. Not only that, but I got the thumbnails for The Life Equation's first video through from Jorden. Did I mention me and Jorden Oliwa are working on the video for the first single from The Life Equation? Well, I have now. Here's a picture of him drawing the thumbnails:

You can see more of those, and marvel at dude's incredible work over on his blog. This, for example, is a video he did for an Evelyn Evelyn song:

Interestingly, this is not the only animated video I am working on right now, and Jorden is not the only the only animator I'm working with. More on that soon... suffice to say I am REALLY EXCITED.

Yeeeeah. So, shout out whoever put together the music for Beyond Walford - Roxy Mitchel, which was on the telly the other day. They used three (3!) of my songs! Ching! Shout out everyone that texted, emailed tweeted me in excitement also. It's nice having music on the telly. I dunno why. I haven't time to ponder the psychological ramifications. It just is.

So. you know I went back to that ghetto dentist in Homerton the other day? I was getting a wee filling, right, and I was lying down in the chair, staring at the yellowed, peeling ceiling, my face just having been paralysed by some kind of rude electric shock type thing, and my dissaproving, locustlike, mildly sinister dentist let out a squeaky, sneaky, and worst of all stinky fart RIGHT BY MY HEAD, I went, "mmmrrrrfffwgh!" in protest, and he ignored me. Foul! I have no idea why I go there, I really don't. I didn't even get NHS prices, because I missed my last appointment. My girl thinks I am nuts. There's a posh dentist she goes to in the centre of town that I signed up with but its too far, and posh dentists weird me out a bit. There is something perversely comforting in the squalor of mine.

My first dentist, back in Wales during the 80s and apartheid was a creepy white South African who used to stick his big sausage fingers in my mouth with no gloves on. I could see the tiny bits of dirt stuck in his pores as the big nail-bitten sausage fingers went in, and I would squirm and heave a little, but I tried my very best to be brave. I have always tried my very best to be brave.

OK, I am off to the post office now to deliver people's PRINTS. Stay safe out there!


The Kidnapping Prints Out Now!

That's right ladies and Gs, up there you can see a little snippet of the intensely professional process that went into creating the excellent artwork for The Kidnapping Of Akira The Don By Joey2tits. Birmingham native and Class-A G Andrew Bainbridge helmed the shoot, assisted by the lovely James Harrison, with set dressing and prop design by Set Dressing Tim. For my sins, I spent an hour or so tied to a chair, and another couple of hours lying on the floor, and in the boot of our huge shiny Saab. (Joey actually managed to lock me in that boot with the keys still in my hand "by accident" during the recording of the skits. It took me 15 minutes to work out an ingenious, Houdini-esque escape, while Joey laughed like a Hyena trapped down a drain for the duration, and let me tell you right now, 15 minutes is a long-ass time when you're locked in a cot-damned boot)

As you can see, it was all worth it, as the results the results were amazing. And now, you can hang those results on your wall, by buying a beautiful, glossy, high quality, limited edition PRINT of one of those magnicicent artworks.This one, to be specific:

Yeah, that's the hotness. Look at that detail! In case you couldn't work it out, Andrew paints on top of the photos once they're done, and I'll let him explain why:

When people see a photograph they think they see a witness: they know I was there, and believe that the image captures something real. But then I overlay another, unnatural layer onto the image trying to pull that certainty apart and reveal some of the more mysterious elements of the human condition.

Exactly. Each print is just £10 and comes with a free digital download of the acclaimed masterwork The Kidnapping Of Akira The Don By Joey2tits. In addition, each print will be signed personally by myself and Joey. Here's some lovely photos taken with my telephone of us signing some of the peorders:


In KIDNAPPING T-SHIRT news, my supplier tells me they will be in "Thursday, Friday at the latest". I have a industrial post-nag full of jiffys and 5 rolls of sellotape at the ready for a day of hardcore DON FACTORY ACTION!

OK then! It's a beautiful, snow sodden day here in London, and I have an appointment with THE DENTIST in just under an hour, to sort my front tooth out, the one that's discoloured because it's DEAD, And has been ever since a day much like today, way back in 1994, when I was just thirteen years old. The netball courts in the school had frozen over with ice, and were all skidding around at high speeds like, well, children and I skipped and fell - SMACK! - on my face, and smashed half my front tooth off. They pulled it down with a brace and leveled it off, but it died that day, and never came back to life.