Summer Shirts!

It might be raining all over the world, but SUMMER IS UPON US! And that means its time for a new line of Ts from LITF. Have at ye brothers and sisters, with the freshest threads money can buy! Just £12 each, or £30 for all three! Boy oh boy!

First up, it's the BANKERS  T. Emblazoned with the chorus of my 2005 classic, which is tragically as apt as ever in this dark year of our lord, 20012 AD.

Next its the long overdue THUNDERCHRIST shirt. Featuring my ace art from the last ATD mixtape on a beautiful yellow haze shirt.

And last, but by no means least, it's the ATD NIRVANA SMILEY SHIRT! In my thirteenth summer, my favouritest band in the world was Nirvana, and my favouritest T shirt was their smiley shirt. So it is only right that in Summer 2012 I pay tribute, by combining two of the acest things I know: me, and that shirt! Screen printed on luxurious super soft charcoal black Gildan cotton in Cardiff, and drawn and designed by me, Akira The Don!

WOW! And, as mentioned, you can get all three for a mere £30. And not only that, but preorderers of that bundle will get a FREE song, the brand new and unreleased BANKERS 2012! So what on Earth are you waiting for? Go go go!

Alrighty. That up there then, was my response to the ridiculous shit that was being spouted by some of my macho rap brethren and their tragic pals in my Twitter timeline earlier, in the wake of Frank Ocean's Tumblr post that described a romance he had with a fellow a few Summers ago. That Louis Vitton garbed perma-scowling balls of confusion still roam the Earth is sad, but the larger reaction, "mostly shitloads of people saying they couldn't care less in textspeak," as The Telegraph's Catherine Gee told me on Twitter, was more encouraging. "I like living in an age where Frank Ocean comes out and people everywhere don't give a shit, loudly, in text spk," said my similarly broadsheet-employed friend Sophie. "I LOVE LIVING IN THE (ODD) FUTURE," I concurred.

Shout out the future. I've Been watching a lot of Only Fools And Horses lately. The 80s was a completely different world in some respects. A lot has changed... for the better and the worse. Here's to the next shift. May our kids learn from our ignorance.

Speaking of which, I just got back from outting a shelf up for Jeres, who hd no idea how to do suhc a thing. "I've never even seen anyone put a shelf up," he admitted. Jeres is in his mid thirties. It is mental. Here we are, with the new shelf. Jeres got it to put a monitior on. "It's not a telly!" he assured me. "It's just for watching DVDs."

Well that's OK then.

Hey, here's my new vlog, it's going to be on Huffington Post on Friday, with a full text version accompanying it. SCREW YOUR TRELLIS SPIDER-MAN SONY! YOU ASSHOLES!

Akira The Don - Video Highway (Official Video) Click here to cop the Video highway single bundle!~

Last time around we left Akira The Don sat on a curb, Envy having left his broke ass over money arguments, peering up into the window of a car, a car whose occupants offered a chance of money...

Yes! Following on from the heartbreaking Nothing Lasts Forever, I give you the thrilling second installment of The Life Equation Trilogy:


It's a 200MPH crime spree with me, Akira The Don, at the wheel, featuring star turns from Littles, Jeres, Acid Cad Tom, Mr Lacey, world renowned comic book smuggler and Art Brut frontman Eddie Argos, and celebrated fteishwear designer and Turbo Gangstress Nina Kate! Shot in glorious black and white in glamorous Essex by Mighty Tom Coles, directed and edited by Dr Aaron Shrimpton, with special effects and mastering from the legendary AK Donovan!

Please enjoy this fine release from Living In The Future and share it with all your friends and family! Especially your uncle, the getaway driver! He will be able to relate!

Keep it locked on for the shocking conclusion of THE LIFE EQUATION TRILOGY! Part three, We Won't Be Broke Forever ft. Gruff Rhys is coming next month!

Video Highway is taken from my second LP, The Life Equation. It is a modern classic and you really should own it.

Buy on iTunes Buy in the Don Shop


Produced by Aaron Shrimpton & Akira The Don Directed by Aaron Shrimpton DOP - Thomas Coles 1st AD. - Thomas Hooke Make-Up - Ellie Burrows Playback - Benson Burrows Location Manager - Debbie Mcgrant Graphics, sound and additional science - Akira The Don Catering - Akira The Don

Starring: Akira The Don as Akira The Don Thomas Hooke as Acid Cad Tom Mr Lacey as Johan Twotears Eddie Argos as Eddie R. Boss, AKA The Kingpin Littles as OG Triple OG Envy as Envy Jeres as Nicholas Ritual Nina Kate as Mary Murder

A special thank you to Dylan, Son Of Coles for the car and Gemma Langley, Lady of Coles for letting us fill their house with refreshers and monopoly money.


ADVENT 2: Merry White Witchmass!

I might have had to take the Nothing Lasts Forever video down temporarily, as Youtube fucked up the audio synch, but ADVENT on rolls on apace, with a very special Christmas message and GIFT from London based, Penzance born (well, half of them) sex tourist quartet WHITE WITCHES. You should recognise guitarist Jeres from his many excellent collaborations with ME, and singer Rory you might remember from naughties legends PINK GREASE. Regardless, they are mighty and their presence is a present. Kiss their ass.

Click the play button above to view their special Christmas message, recorded at their White Witchmass party last night, then click here to get your special Christmas GIFT - an exclusive FREE  download of their entirely glorious and festive HARD TIMES!

[wpaudio url=" Witches - Hard Time.mp3" text="White Witches - Hard Time"]


White Witches will release their debut EP early next year.

I am off to the Artrocker awards now. Tune in tomorrow for more advent gifting!

Speaking of which, here's an ace unboxing video New Yorker and Don Mixroulette made of his ATD SWAG BAG. It really is most joyous.

ADVENT 1: Nothing Lasts Forever (Official Video) EDIT: Youtube has, for the second time, moved the audio out of synch with the video, so I've had to take it down while we try and sort the problem.


Welcome to ADVENT on!

Every day, something ace. And what better way to kick it off than with what I consider to be my best video to date, part one of The Life Equation Trilogy, Nothing Lasts Forever?

Directed by Aaron Shrimpton, shot by Tom Coles, and starring me and Envy, if this doesn't make you feel something you must be DEAD.

The Nothing Lasts Forever single bundle drops this coming Monday. Let me know what you think of the video, and also let me know what you'd like in your daily ADVENT.

Meanwhile, The Life Equation Trilogy continues on January 1st with VIDEO HIGHWAY.


Two Days. One BMX Accident. One Lost Rapper. Three Videos: TLEIII

My neck is borked and will not hold my head up high, but I am flush with joy and pride at the might works myself and the Super Adventure Video Team carried out this weekend. We went to Essex, where a whopping three videos were shot, shot like traitors... three mighty works of audio-visual glory that together tell one tall yale, and will be beginning via your intertellescreens in but a few weeks time.

That photo up there is from Day One of the Life Equation Trilogy shoot (henceforth to be referred to as TLEIII). Left to right: Our director, Dr. Aaron Shrimpton, 2nd AD and "Henchman Number 2" Acid Cad Thomas , Akira The Don, Mr Lacey, and Eddie Argos, who came all the way from Berlin and showed upon time, unlike certain Big Narstie, who as mentioned in the last post, was coming all the way from, um, Essex, and managed to get entirely lost and not show up at all.

"I ended up outside Cambridge on some mad countryside roads," wailed Narstie when I finally caught up with him yesterday lunchtime, still drunk from the previous nights festivities, and his ordeal still fresh in his mind. "Seven hours driving round in circles fam. It broke my mind fam. I am never leaving my yard without a fuckin' satnav ever again. Never. Fuck that. Fuck that, fuck that,  fuck that, fuck that, fuck that fuck that fuck that fuck that, fuck THAT. I ended up broke down with no petrol on some dark road for an hour and half waiting for the AA to come and rescue man, bring man some petrol, take man back to civilisation. I was broken fam. I cried fam. Tears of PAIN. This is LIFE."

Narstie finally made it back to his home at 1am, by which time I was snuggled up in my Don Bed, ahead of day two of TLEIII. Day two was an entirely different beast, involving a new location, a larger crew, more props, breakdancers, and Accident-Prone Envy, who had come all the way from Manchester with her BMX-accident-dick-finger and was only an hour late.

It was a great day. Everything went to plan. Everybody was amazing. We shot the shit out of those videos. We shot them like highwaymen. We shot them like they stole from us. BOOM! BOOM! POW! IN YOUR FACE TLEIII! BOOM!


Here I am practicing dance moves with some of my dancers.

Here I am sharing a sofa with Accident-Prone Envy, shortly before she poked herself in the eye with some money.

Above we see the crew admiring some of Mighty Tom Coles beautiful footage.

Afterwards we linked Joey2tits and Set Dressing Tim at the Roundhouse in Camden where MF Doom and Ghostface were playing. We missed Doom, but caught the tail end of Ghost's performance. It wasn't the greatest performance of all time, and the sound was a bit shonky, and Doom never came onstage with him at the end as advertised, but it was a wonderful way to close a wonderful day.

Sunday afternoon was spent despairing at the newspapers and playing scrabble in the Kenton with my wife.

Sunday evening was spent reaquanting myself with Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas, AKA The Greatest Video Game of All Time. I had lately been harboring suspicions that games are not only much shorter than they used to be, but much easier too, and but an hour into my replay of GTA SA, my suspicions were confirmed. Shit is hard, son, and all the better for it. What a world was created in San Andreas! What an experience! Rockstar have a big job on their hands matching that level of wonder when they return to San Andreas next year.

Oh, before I bugger off to see Scroobius Pip and B Dolan at the Scala, here's a crazy little so-called-coincidence. My wife finally got round to filling in our census form the other week. I didn't want to submit it at all, but we decided we didn't want the £2000 finr, so went ahead and filled the bugger in. Then, yesterday, I get a message on Twitter from one of my listeners who just so happnes to work in the cesus sorting office, and just so happned to get my census. Crazy. What does it all mean?

Photos by Mighty Tom Coles and Charlotte Narkiewicz

The Mystery Of Chessboxing & The Countdown To BABYDOLL!


At the time of writing it is just 34 hours till the #BABYDOLL video drops!

Naturally, I am still finalizing some tiny things in relation to the bugger. It wouldn't be an Akira The Don project otherwise. But rest assured the video is done, edited, and aweosme, and will be with you as promised at midnight, September 11th 2011.

As will the 5-track single bundle, featuring a secret superstar remix. Can you guess who it is?

As mentioned yesterday, you can pre-order the MP3 bundle here, the FLAC bundle here, and the super-rare 5-track Babydoll promo CD here. As ever, CD comes with free digital download.

To get myself ready, I'm going to a chessboxing match at London Scala tonight courtesy o my good friend The Piper Machine. The Scala used to be a cinema, and afterwards was used as a music venue... I've seen Gonzales, Sage Francis and Outkast there amongst others, but my fondest memory of the place is going to see J Zone back in the day, and jumping off a moving bus as it raced past the venue while I was on the phone because I didn't want to be late. The show was awesome, and both J Zone and I were wearing long white rabbit fur coats, his crumpled from having been in a suitcase.

Anyway, chessboxing, since you asked, is an actual professional sport, 8 years deep, with its own federation and league, and it has nothing at all to do with the Wu-Tang Clan. It involved two humans undergoing 11 alternating rounds of timed chess and boxing. The winner is decided by points, checkmate or knockout.


Going Back To V

Hi. I'm Akira The Don. 10 years ago I went to the V festval, and swore never to return. Now, a decade down the line, I am on a train, on my way to that very same V festival, where I have been hired to perform as Master Of Vibes backstage at the Virgin Media Tent. I am sat on a Virgin train, but I'm not using Virgin Wi-Fi as it costs an extortionate £4 an hour, and is slower than my dongle as it is shared by three first class carriages full of executives. My dongle is doing pretty good actually.

Anyway. As I said, it's been a decade since I swore never to return to the V festival. but things are different now.

Last time I went to the V festival I was a 21 year old web-superstar music journalist with a photographer in tow, both of us well paid and well prepared, pharmaceutically, at least. I was there to review the bands and Edd was there to take photos. With us was my good friend Jeres, also on reviewing duty. We couldn't have been there fifteen minutes before we blagged ourselves some VIP passes and into one of the many free booze tents to be found at what was then a festival on the cutting edge of commerciality. The V Festival created the template for all modern festivals. Every aspect of it was sponsored. Adverts covered every free space. The backstage was a multi-tired labyrinth of free booze opportunities. And we took as many as we could.

By the second day I'd found myself a plum spot in one of the many VIP areas on site. This one was holding a celebrity five a side football match, and had waitresses wandering around with trays of rum and energy drinks. I reclined on a deck chair, from which I could see the stage I was supposed to be reviewing, and smoked spliffs and drank rum until the Stereophonics came on, at which point I got up and had a wonder around my enclosure. The five aside match was being hosted by glamour-model-turned reality TV and trash magazine mainstay Jordan, now known as Katie Price, who clasped me tightly to her bossom as a crowd cheered for telling her I could introduce her to Travis frontman Frank Healy. It wasn't a complete lie. I had interviewed him a few months back, and he liked me so much he gave me a carton of 200 cigarettes.

Edd, meanwhile, had gotten access to the Bicardi Breezer tent, which was full of fridges packed with bottles of alcopops and spirits. Jeres and I helped him to get a lot of them over a wall, and we wandered around the site selling them for £2 each and used the money to buy drugs.

Ah, those were the days. Well, they were days, anyway. Interesting, strange, wild days, the likes of which might never be seen again, but I am not too sad about it. I swore never to return to the V festival as I objected heartily to its all encompassing commercialization, and now 10 years later it seems the whole world is that way, and  am returning to Master The Vibes in the Virgin Media VIP tent, which is not a tent at all, but a purpose built house complete with kitchen, bedroom and garden, to go with Virgin Media's Our House motif, bought from a band I used to love when I was nine years old called Madness.

Who would have thought it, all those years ago? And what will the world look like in a another decade, and another still? I cannot begin to predict. Life moves pretty fast, as another of my boyhood heroes noted. If you don't take a job as Master Of Vibes at a British music festival when you're offered one, you could miss it.

If you're at the V festival in Stafford this weekend, do come and find me. I will be having a whale of a time, talking over the no doubt excellent music provided by the resident Clash DJs and special guests including Frankmusic and Ellie Goulding. There are going to be a load of big foam hands for me to hand out (hahaha. "hand out"), and othersuch fun fripperies. I wonder if I can get hold of a klaxon. Either way, you should definitely come and hang out. It will be fun. Many people predicted The Death of Fun by this point, but they were wrong. Humans will always find ways to have Fun, no mater how the world is organised. It is one of our purest purposes.


It's Monday, 13:33pm London time, and I'm propped up at my desk listening to Elliott Wilson's OF special and necking Ibuprofen.

This time on Saturday I was drinking Guiness in a pig mask in sometime Krays-hotspot The Ten Bells on the first stop of the #DONSTAG, which was basically a stag party with extra swag in it, organised with no input from me whatsoever by The Best Jeremys, my twin-human Best Man superteam.

Turns out they'd put together a historical tour of East London that they joyfully dubbed "The Route of All Evil", which lead us from Shoreditch to Wapping and back again, on a journey that would prove to enlighten, astonish, and thoroughly inebriate. A gang of my favorite dudes showed up, including ALL OF MY BROTHERS (see above), and lo, we did proceed to have a beautiful day.



Around this point it gets hazy, which 12 hours of drinking will do to a person. All I know is that at some point in the early hours, we were leaving a club, and according to witnesses, I appeared at the top of the stairs, grinning manically amidst the crowd of bustling departees, and decided that in my faded and enlightened state that laws of physicas did not apply to me, and that i knew a way out that didn't involve shuffling slowly downstairs with the herd. And lo, I did raise my superman fists, raised myself above the crowd for a few, glorious seconds, in which my mental self image was probably something like this:

Then, a swoosh, and an almighty CRACK at the bottom of the stairs.

"Oh shit, he's getting married in a bodycast," groaned Tim.

But not so! The magical forcefield of booze appeared to have averted that potentiality, as sooner than one might manage to cry, "an ambulance for that drunk!" I was running around the the middle of the road dodging buses and demanding spliffs.

Now, I'm not running anywhere right now. I am, as I said, necking Ibuprofen and wincing in pain every time I move.

But I had a lovely time.

Thanks you guys.





BEHOLD! Amazing Time Lapse Of Donovan H Drawing "AK Donovan Sole Brutha"

So, I had a kind of OK day, mainly because I stayed up hella late as documented last night, and thus got up hella late, as not documented anywhere until now (woah, etc.), and an amazing evening. What I did, was I left The House, and went to the gym with Jeres, one half of my Double-Jeremy Best Men Voltron creation. I always feel good when I leave the house and go to the gym. So, we put in some hard work in the gym, and THEN, we went downstairs to the LUXURY SPA, which we were informed by the gym staff that our membership now entitles us to utilise.

Serious, that spa is on some next level shit that I am not used to. The first thing they did was give us flipping bathrobes and sandals. Like, nice ones. And a nice towel. In a nice bag, With a gold key for the lockers. None of that put-a-pound-in shit. Then we got the grand tour from a deeply affable little fellow. They've got like, eight different kinds of spa rooms. Swedish spa. Menthol spa. Ice all over the place. Lounge area with complimentary apples and water with cucumbers and lemons in it. So slipping radical. AND THEY HAVE A FLIPPING WOODEN BUCKET FULL OF COLD WATER YOU CAN EMPTY ONTO YOUR HEAD BY PULLING A CHAIN!

Sweet lord brothers and sisters, that was a righteous place indeed.

Afterwards we went to Nandos.

What a great night!

Then I cycled home and where I'd this amazing piece if fan art in my Box, waiting for me.

Daaaaaaamn homie, when I said the other day I'd been getting some ill-ass fan art lately, who knew this shit was in the offing? Donovan H, that's who, AKA |)()|\|()\//\|\| |-|, whose work I displayed in the Blog Blob a lil' while back. Cos he was a plot and a scheme 'pon this crazy shit. Daaamn homie! That is some flipping mentalness right there!

He calls it "Ak Donovan Soul Brutha", which is a righteous title indeed. But what is especially mental is watching the dude create it, from nothing, right in front of one's eyes, on a big ass chalk board. Holy cowabunga dude, that is awesome.

SO! Click the play button and watch that legendary time lapse of him drawing the thing to All Now Or Never from The Kidnapping and Living In The Future. Then go visit the |)()|\| and pay your respects to his ill-ass art section. Sheeeee-it!

Giants Were Real

Look at that giant phone! How weird is that? Me and BJ spotted it on the way back from the gym last night (Blonde Jeremy has joined Jeres and I in our Hackney Council gym memberships, so I now have two gym buddies). Well, BJ spotted it. I couldn't spot a pair of tits in a brothel. I lollop around like a 1920s cartoon animal with music playing in my head, "fa la la la la la!" I hardly notice anything physical. So I walked straight past this, ("fa la la la la la!") and I had a comically delayed reaction to BJ's frenzied cries of, "woah! Look at that! A fucking giant phone!" In fact, when I actually gazed upon the thing, it took a few moments to realise what it was.

A giant phone.


A giant's phone.

I was reminded of the following photo:

A beautiful bit of photoshopping, certainly. But one that serves as a distraction and a red herring, for doubt not do I that giants once roamed this earth. I do not doubt that for a second. We have plenty of evidence.

I don't doubt lots of things that some people would consider crazy though. I have never once in my life doubted the existence of life on other planets, for example. To think otherwise always struck me as preposterously arrogant. As for us, I am of the opinion that humans have existed on this planet for well over a million years, that great civilisations have come and gone and come again. And will again. Evidence is all around us. I see time cyclical, fuck your 3D (RIP Ninjavideo, fuck your TV). When I talk about sitting on the 50 pees in Bangor seeing "everything that ever was all at once" on Pissing On The Roof, I am referring to an actual thing that happened. The fifty pees were what we called the benches outside Woolies (because they were shaped like 50 pence pieces), and once, when I was 13 or so, I was sat on one of these 50 pees, munching on some stolen confectionery or other (it would have been some Fruit Pastilles or a Crunchie, because that's what I used to nick from Woolies every day after school, like clockwork), and all of a sudden the air around thickened and went went SWOOOOSH, and I could suddenly see everything that had ever been in my immediate vicinity, and ever would be - every building, every structure, every vehicle, every animal every person... the people looked like tagliatelle, coiling up the high street as far as the eye could see. I don't know how long it lasted, or how it stopped. A decade later I read Grant Morrison's The Invisibles, and right at the end he described something very similar (like "worms", he had it), and I was stunned. Kurt Vonnegut once wrote about moments in time being like a big pile of polaroids that a man, if he so wished, could traverse as easily as rifling through a sock drawer - easier, in fact, if he was disciplined.

I am not disciplined, but I would like to be, one day. I am definitely getting better at certain practices. I notice synchronicities every other hour or so these days (GM says the first step in becoming a magician is noting such synchronicities, while Malcolm X used to say they were signs that he was "walking with Allah). I intuit things before they happen a lot more. If you're going to ring me, chances are I'm going to ring you. At the same time. For a man whose head is buried in technology 14 hours a day I am not doing so badly. I suspect not having a television plays a large part in this. I thank my Lucky Stars every day.

I say, "thank you, lucky stars!"

My Lucky Stars beam, approvingly.

But I do look forward to the point when I can unplug myself from the machine, if only for a few years. Who knows? Maybe once I'm out I won't want to go back. I heard a man on a radio show the other night talking about about a peasant woman he used to see every day standing in a field. "What are you doing?" he asked her. "Talking with my husband," she explained. "He works many many miles away".

One day telephone boxes were installed, and the man saw the woman using one. "Why are you using that telephone?" he asked, "I thought you communicated telepathically?"

The woman replied, "oh, this is much easier."

Ho ho ho, eh? Anyway. I must get back to my Great Works (right now, amongst many other things, I am trying to find a radio plugger. Do you know one? I need one). But, as ever, I would be very interested to hear your thoughts on these matters in the comments...




Christmas In Hackney

With a week left before it really is Christmas, I was delighted to wake up today to a blizzard going on outside my window. Now, this year's snow has caused me all manner of problems, from outlandish gas bills to majorly delayed T-shirt deliveries, but I still love it, and I was secretly glad that public transport had ground to a standstill and I couldn't cycle, as it necessitated a nice long walk to the gym. I loaded up my Desire Z with Cocaine Blunts' Best Rap Of 2010, set the camera mode to "warm vintage", slung my mother's scarf around my neck, and set out into London's Historic East.

You know that snow is serious when it starts sticking to walls, and you know its really serious when it starts sticking to horizontal metal objects, like road signs.

Similarly, you can tell that you're in some kind of winter wonderland when buses zoom past and drench you, not with puddle-water, but with a thick splat of pure wet snow. Its way better than the usual routine, despite ultimately achieving the same result.

Jeres was not, as advertised, at the gym, but in Primark buying gloves, so I wandered down to Hackney central to meet him. I passed a park, blanketed in unsoiled white. I was tempted to vault over the fence and run around the thing in circles like a big vandal, until a little bird caught my eye and made me think better of it.

I found Jeres fresh from Primark with a bag full of underpants, but no gloves. It dawned on me that I have not bought any underpants since those Spider-man ones I got in New York in 2007. My girl's sister always buys me underpants for Christmas. Her Mum too , now I come to think of it. How undignified. I am going to buy myself some off of the internets as soon as I've finished this drop.

Jeres, as you might be able able to tell from the evil glint in his ye in the picture above, has been infused with some weird exercise-demon, so we ended up going a bit harder in the gym than usual: 20 minutes on the running machine, 300 reps on the upper body machines, 100 on the ab machines, 50 sit ups on the big comedy rubber balls and 50 dumbbells "because  450 is a stupid number."

Afterwards we copped squishees from the newsagent and posed for a photo and had snowballs thrown at us by pesky rudeboys. Their aim was comically rubbish, so they tried their luck at close range on a small Chinese lady, who transformed into a terrifying vision of  fervent rage and sent them scuttling off like squirrels.

On the way home it dawned on me that I used to smoke a shit ton of fags every single day of my life. It's been a year and a half since I quit, which isn't all that long in the context of a lifetime. I wonder what I won't be doing in another 18 months that I am now. I hope its not waffles, I really like waffles at the moment.

It's been 18 years since I quit church, which is a better percentage. I still love churches though, and they look especially dope under a gang of snow.

I found this disgusting looking creature a few yards down from the weird Masonic lodge round the corner from my place. Its either the result of some dastardly experiment, or a sandbag with some snow and twigs on it. I refuse to believe the latter.

After the run in with the crappy-aim rudeboys outside the gym, I had decided to attempt preventive measures, by wandering along bouncing a big shiny wedge of hard-packed snow up and down in my palm, like a cricket ball. Its effect was incredible. Regular humans eyed me warily, and active snowballists nodded at me respectfully all the way home.

About three seconds after I snapped the shot above this kid got a lump of snow the size of a basketball upside the back of his head. It was beautiful.

This guy wanders around Hackney Wick all day with three plastic bags full of paper cups. He reeks so thoroughly of piss you can be in the shop on Eastway buying gas and smell him walking up Chapman Road three blocks away. He lives in the old people's home with the old blonde lady who falls into uncontrollable pearls of cackling laughter whenever she sees me. I wonder what they do of an evening.

I don't know why some had decided to erect a giant snow testicle in the middle of the road outside the Hackney Pearl but they did. And I aint mad at them.

I took this snap a few moments after the kid in the blue hoody had been told by his mother to "stop that right now."

I took this snap a few moments before the kid in the blue hoody caught his mother around the side of the head with a big-ass snowball, and got dragged across the road by his ear. I could read his mind. "It was worth it," he repeated. "It was worth it."

And that? That was my third Preventative Snowball. More of a snow egg, now I look at it. Regardless, it kept me safe from attack, safe from wet-neck, free to live another day, and for that I am thankful. If you try this method yourself - I am going to call it The Cold War Method - do let me know how you get on, but remember! I only invented it today, and it has therefore not been rigorously tested. Don't blame me if it goes horribly wrong, like when my mate Danny started carrying a swiss army knife around.


I, Dynomatica

pekar OK, what was that? Oh, yeah! Yes, you are RIGHT, I DO need to be updating this EVERY DAY like I said I would in January! You're RIGHT! And I know, the site IS broken in that you can't navigate past the first page with the next page button and has been that way for ages and that is really ANNOYING and UNFAIR!

You see, those two things are, unfortunately enough, LINKED... because the problem I have right now is that if I post something on the main blog every day, in a week its off the frontpage, and therefore pretty much gone. And some stuff you want to hang around a bit, cos it's cool. That's why I created the Blob Blog in the first place - so I could post all those songs and videos and articles without wiping out my own lovingly crafted Premium Content out of existence. Of course, what has happened is that my main blog posts dont have too many links and things in them. And I bet there's a whole bunch of you that haven't even noticed the Blob Blog!

Well, all this was supposed to have been resolved about a year ago by akirathedon 5.0, but little Zef is taking his sweet ass time with that and we are all suffering as a result. I mean, you're RIGHT, dear reader, is supposed to be the BEST ARTISTS' WEBSITE IN THE WORLD... and it certainly is a damn site better than pretty much every artists' site I can think of right now... but it certainly is NOT anywhere close to what it should be, and frankly, I am embarrassed by it (almost as much as the photos of me that pop up when you google image search me. How does one "fix" those rotten results?!).

Still, I have just upped the accapella, instrumental and clean versions of Nah Nah Nah ft. Gonzales. It's not like I'm sat on my ass watching The Daily Show or anything (RIP NinjaVideo, we pray for a resurrection). I stay busy like ants, baby. Indeed I do. But I do think that Nazi discipline needs to get reinstated. I need to finish that comic strip and get back into regular cartoonism. I need to be dropping something WORTHWHILE on this mainblog every day. I need to be getting the Doncast up as soon as its finished. I need to answer email quicker. I need to get my Twitter game back up.

Anything else? Do let me know where you think I'm slipping. I don't mind. You can be harsh.

Anyway. The gym is going well, thank you. That it forces me to cycle for over an hour most days makes it worthwhile, and I like hanging out with Jeres on the Jesus Machines and watching the Polish dudes going mental on the barbells. Speaking of which, Jeres and I had a wee rehearsal on Sunday for this gig we're doing on Friday, which was pretty sweet. We're having another few before the gig, as we wish to be Competent, and Well Rehearsed, and Tight, like a dickinthebutt (word to Nicki Minaj), which sounds like an archaic children's toy or something now I come to think of it. Dickinabutt that is. I can hear the theme song and everything. "Dickinabutt, dickinabutt, dickinabutt, dickinabutt!" Damn, what a joy to say that word is! Dickinabut! Whoo!

Hmm. I was supposed to be doing more Writing round these parts, wasn't I? Never mind. Check back tomorrow and we'll see what we can do. In the meantime, wrap your eyeballs around this video I did for Si Cranstoun's Dynamo, which is Out Soon. I'll drop the remix I did tomorrow. OK? Yeah? really? Aw, shucks, you guys.

The Soul In Vega

Hey gang! I hope you had an great bank holiday weekend. Even if it wasn't a bank holiday weekend for you. I have been mostly chained to this desk working on that awesome Street Fighter music. It's been a blast! People keep popping by and adding dope stuff to it. Envy's on her way right now. Jeres dropped by earlier just as I was about to hop in the shower. He's adding guitar to Vega right now. It's sounding beautiful. Vega has some haunting music, really he does.

So, we're in pretty awesome shape. Here's the board:

The circles on the left indicate which tracks have completed scratches on them. Ticks mean complete song. And so on. FYI, I am using one of my girl's magic whiteboard things. They're pretty useful. I hear they started life as a Dragon's Den pitch. Shout out TV enterepenours worldwide!

Oh snap! Envy just showed. She's writing on a laptop now, Said laptop is covered with stickers, like guitars in the early nineties.  Don approves. Fire imminent! And since we're still on this thing, keep those drops coming! They're great! akirathedon at!

Jeres' Birthday


Five strips in five days!

I did it!

This last one was a few hours later than the others, but as you can see, I had a good excuse. Whoooo!

I also sent out Security today. People seem to be digging it. It is special, that's why. Get it here (or here) now, mailed out immediately by my ROBOT SLAVES.

I am a bit too tired/tiddly to write much more tonight.

So I shall stop.


This Week I Have Been Mostly...

edge1 Olage gang!

It is a beautiful day here in East London, and I am going to get some sun even if it's just half an hour on the bicycle delivering post. So there.

So, what has been going on?

Jeres came round at 9 this morning to work on one of his songs, which is a jaunty ditty about the perils of cider.

I am drafting the schematics of the new, The Greatest Music Website In The World. It goes into production on Saturday. Don't nobody hassle Zef, or even talk to him. HE'S BUSY!

I have been plotting an awesome and futuristic scheme to release the greatest LP since Thriller with said website at the core of said release.

I made a video for the first single to be taken from the best album since Thriller. It is dope.

I got an email off of Gonzales, who is holed up in Paris remixing a song from the greatest album since Thriller. The song is the greatest joyful pop song about love since Be My Baby.

I went to play football in Clissold park with Joey and James, but when I got there I had a message on my phone from my girl saying she'd locked herself out of our flat and run out of money, so I cycled back to let her in, and got some wine and some pizza, which was Joey's idea, and it was a bloody good idea cos it cheered her up. Getting locked out of your house sucks.

I got to play with my first iPhone ap yesterday. I don't have an iPhone. I have a Gphone. Cos I'm a G. But is pretty damn ill, still! More on that soon. I don't think the release date they have on their site is correct.

I approved the designs of my AMAZING NEW SHOES. Which should be in next week. I might have to kill myself after that, because I will surely have peaked.

I have been bugging out on coffee and B.oB.

Ihave been metting with my ace team in preperation for the fight scene shoots of the Zombie Video. Who's in london next weekend? Who wants to be in a fight scene in a zombie video?

I have been working on a giant art piece wot I have been commissioned to do, that involves me drawing tons of things and meshing them together. Drawing a beautiful portrait of Bob Dylan, I realised he DOES look just like a penis with some sunglasses on. But prettier, obviously. No shots.

I have been getting excited about Batman & Robin # 2, which is out today.

AND! I was worried about him, but I just found out that Charles Hamilton is OK. He's also soliciting his services as a producer/mixer/engineer, although he says he "will not mix or produce gangsta or misogynist music. At all. And though I'm ill at Autotune, you gotta be able to NOT rely on it. Period." Which kind of limits his options. But I am glad he's OK, still.

So, how about you? What's going on?

The Week In Pictures


Akira The Don & Son Of King Rebel rock the Rock Gardens!

Well. We drove to the other side of the country to find the venue in dispute with the promoters and the gig cancelled. Still, we got to see what Weston Super-Mare looks like. And eat some chips. Whoo!


Worked on some conceptual music to an advertising brief with BJ via ftps. Spent the rest of the day recording piano, brass and guitar parts for Son Of King Rebel's EP. Very satisfying, although recording the trumpet gave me a migraine. At 2 am the electric ran out so we went to bed in the dark.


Woke up at half six to record James Chitty Harrison's guitar parts for the conceptual ad music. Worked on another song about not being broke forever till Martin and Mary turned up in the late morning. Martin made us a hearty breakfast, and Mary showed me video footage of the tiny Martin spawn rolling around in her belly.  At this juncture I shall let Martin tell the story:

Marylou and I spent thursday morning at Akira’s house singing and playing guitar on this big song he has called ‘The Answer to the Anti-life Equation’ a composition that veers from melancholic introspection to big beat hip hop and a strange bit that I haven’t got me head round yet. Sounds like something off ‘OK Computer’ which is not what you’d expect from Adam which is always what you can expect from Adam. Jeres came round to work on his Son of King Rebel album and we sang harmonies on ‘I Don’t Love Jesus No More’ which has an ace chorus, I can’t wait to hear the finished thing. Adam works hard, I think he had three or four sessions going on that day. Respect. I made everyone breakfast and Adam poured scalding coffee all over his hand and cooker. Sweet.

I am a liability in the kitchen, it has to be said. Anyway, we receorded Jeres' vocals for I Don't Love Jesus No More and Dustin Hoffman, which was a lot easier than I expected. Jeres' voice has matured and grown rich and raspy since he quit booze and went batshit on the ciggs. The songs sound brilliant.

The boy wonder Narstie showed up with Nathan and Legend at about 7, and we cranked out another three songs for his album, which is sounding so, so mega.


Wrote a new song for ATD16. Four minutes of straight rap. Drew some cartoons. Did another four joints with Narst in the evening. Read The Boys. Collapsed.


Wrote another song for ATD16. This one was pretty deep. Glacial horror stuff. Littles came by for a zoot and a catch up after the fuckery that was Nappa, and its rotten aftermath. Littles has some shit to deal with, but he's coping admirably. Dude has a kid on the way and everything. Anyway, we ended up doing a song, which is very moving and will be on ATD16 as well.


Cambridge Akira The Don & The Indeliactes was amazing! Photos coming in the morning with any luck. BIG UP EVERYBODY!


OK, Zef's trying to get this new photo infrastructure in place, but its proving tricky. So no big wodge of photos just yet, Just one (cheers Rachel!). Anyway. Like I said, we had a great time last night in Cambridge, and would like to thank everybody involved.

I was a bit worried when Jeres rang me at 11am slurring violently and admitting to not having been to sleep yet. But Nosleepdrunk or no, dude played ace, and so did Jeres and Mary (who had slept, and weren't full of pop). Those that weren't there! You missed a bunch of songs that have never been played live like Giro and Thieving. Shit is sounding mad good with bass AND guitar. AND you missed a very hot crowd. AND you missed The Indelicates. Or is it Indelicates?

I don't know. Rude drunk Jeres accused Simon Indelicate of being a poor man's Luke Haines, which was both mean and partially inaccurate. The (is it "The" OR WHAT?!) Indelicates are so much more than that! They are amazing! I can't be bothered going into music journo mode right now, so I shall draw from The Svenhunter's Playlouder review of their debut LP, American Demo, which is out next week.

They’ve really gone for it here, have The Indelicates; this is a real event of an album. From the orchestral prologue echoing the epic, bitter love song at the centre (‘New Art For The People’), to the audacious and anthemic opener ‘The Last Significant Statement to be Made in Rock ‘n’ Roll’, to its sister song, the unruly climactic excellence called ‘We Hate The Kids’, and the touching, brittle epilogue, again recounting the central themes of love, music, and hope, (and sweeping up the shards of them): “the chilled wind blows the flyers past the stage doors where we stand /so much for you, so much for me, so much for undying loyalty / I sold you and you sold me, exactly as we planned”.

The journey takes us through an unlikely pairing of watertight guitar pop and bitter, witty satire; the target is society in general, but the music industry is never far away.

A post-feminist headache, Julia Indelicate’s ‘Our Daughters Will Never Be Free’ is over to soon, but packs so much weight into each sentence that it excuses its brevity:

“…have photographs taken to make us look dead… / lift up your top: got to use what you’ve got… / It’s all tongue in cheek anyway.”

Better to Know’ is a more relaxed affair altogether and sets the (uneven) pace of the album with a foot-tapping, hand-clapping condemnation of the ignorance-is-bliss attitude celebrated by pop music’s frequent adulation of vapid nonsense; “The truth’s a haunting, taunting mistress – she ain’t been good to me”, sings Simon Indelicate, yet insists it’s good to be aware of “the elephant in your living room, the fascist in your bed.”

Songwriting duties are shared more-or-less fifty-fifty and by the end of twin towers ‘Sixteen’ and ‘Julia, We Don’t Live in the Sixties’ (both singles), there’s already been enough to convince me of this album’s worth. Both work on several levels; the former celebrates and satirises rock ‘n’ roll’s impractical, unrealistic, often paedophilic obsession with youth (see also The Teenagers), and the latter laments the death of protest culture while claiming “We’ve never had it so good – life is sweet!”

Indeed. If things were wrong, surely people would complain? It’s like that hogwash adage: “If it was so important you wouldn’t have forgotten it.” Try telling that to anyone with Alzheimer’s.

The slower songs lack none of the punch of the poppier indie-disco fodder: take the opening line of 'Stars', par example: “I’m in love with the boy next door, he treats me like a filthy whore.” And then there’s the fanboy-baiting ‘If Jeff Buckley Had Lived’, a cruelly perceptive ‘What If…’ that beats any issue of the Marvel Comics series.

The fortunate truth is that everything here is noteworthy. These are songs that can be played again and again, and yet still surprise you. They’re songs you actually want to learn the words to. I mean, did you hear the recent single, ‘America’?

Perhaps it’s unfair to dwell on the lyrics. Inevitably you can’t make them out much live, and yet the one time I’ve seen The Indelicates live, the songs lost none of their arresting nature, their power, simplicity and perfect crafting. (And the band’s fantastic.) The dual/duel verses of ‘New Art For The People’ and the respective poetry of guitar, piano, and voices form a love song that makes you want to vomit, though not for the usual reasons. It’s a ‘Fairytale of New York’ for the 21st century, and an all-encompassing summary of the album's critique of the rock 'n' roll game.

Julia’s voice is at its best here, breaking from the pop-perfect sweetness-and-light and revealing a more powerful side. Simon’s recalls their admitted (indeed oft-repeated) influences of Carter USM and The Auteurs. In fact, it’s safe to say that if you hate those bands, or hold any particular grudge against indie music in the 90s, you’ll have trouble with The Indelicates.

Having just read Carter USM’s autobiography (‘Goodnight Jim Bob’), it’s really quite clear what a laughably horrific thing the music business is, and in some ways the bizarre major-label presence of bands like Carter was probably a significant part of the journey to where we are now, wherever that is. Could Carter be big today? Who knows. Art Brut are on Mute, but EMI (accidentally) release their singles.

The Indelicates will release ‘American Demo’ (named because (and I’m paraphrasing here) “that’s what every UK indie debut is”) on Weekender Records, after a few singles on their own label. Weekender Publishing commences trading this year too. As far as I’m aware none of the big boys have snapped up the label yet, and whether or not they’d go anywhere near The Indelicates is anybody’s guess.

And yet the fact remains that these songs are some of the most radio-friendly savage attacks on the UK music industry to date.

Pretentious perhaps, but it’s a good argument for aiming high, and accepting disappointment as an inevitability of an artistic endeavour, as opposed to aiming low, and avoiding it: “It’s better to know”, indeed.

It could be said that we’ve heard a lot of it before, (not least because versions of about 8 tracks were previously released), but the production work is strong as Araldite (actually, I can never get Araldite to work, let’s say superglue). And this concentration of passion and song writing prowess is all too uncommon.

The punchy, piano-driven bass line that heralds the arrival of last track proper, ‘We Hate The Kids’, quakes like the cup of water in Jurassic Park as the Tyrannosaurus Rex approaches, and the climax is breath-taking, (though perhaps I’ll stop quoting their post-modern observational black comedy as it works better with accompanying music).

This is an important album – nothing and nobody will convince me otherwise.


Snow In Spring

Snow I woke up this morning and it was very cold, so I buried my head under the duvet and hoped for it to go away. It didn't. So a little later I poked my head above duvet, and peered at my window. Outside of my wondow, it was fucking down snow. SNOW! Fat fluffy gobs of it, pow, pow, pow. I smiled at it, and went back to sleep.

When I woke up again it wasn't snowing anymore, so I figured I deserved some Ribena. So I got some Ribena. Later on I rehearsed with James and Jeres for tomorrow's gig (Mary was being sick, poor love), and later still I went on a train to Richmond to meet my Mam and Keef halfway from theirs. Keef is some kind of a genius and he has fixed my laptop. WE ARE BACK IN BUSINESS!

I read a graphic novel called Fable on the train, which was pretty good, and The Sun, and The Guardian. Both the latter were shit. I am not sure which was shittest. The Sun is still obsessed with lone paedos. The Lone Peodos is almost as good a name for a band as The Lone Gunmen.

I think i might form a band with Young James, as we have written a whole load of songs recently that seem to have their own identity outside of Planet Don. Maybe we have a name already, eh?

The past 3 or 4 posts have not been read by anybody, by the way, as they have been posted while the site has been frozen, as the new one is being built behind the scenes by the Wizard Of Zef. Why I insist on blogging at nobody at all is anybody's guess, but I find it necessary. I am still full of this snot you know. I think my shell is deteriorating. Nothing lasts for ever, eh? Ale Jaca Est.