Sex and Drones and Rock and Roll

stella maris drone orchestra

So what better way to celebrate my ongoing life and hypochondria than the opening night of The Drones Club? The venue is about 5 minutes away from my flat, so I didn’t even have to break my underexercised excuse for a body into a sweat on the way there. Plus it was cheap, they have good beer, and it looked like fulfilling my non-reggae music quota for the rest of the month!

Plus, it looked like a cert that there would be an interesting networking of various crews and stuff. I shan’t bother you with the map, but Jim (1) is in the Stella Maris Drone Orchestra (or at least was at some point) with Zali, who I know from off the old plagiarist/pugilist “fake stewart home novel” massif. Jim (2) was dj-ing, along with Mark.

Plus also well chuffed to see Gyrus, Dr Beck, Chris P and Alan from AAA Maya as was. With all that going on, I was happy to miss most of the night whilst catching up with people and Drinking. To me, that is more exciting than going to watch what seemed to be random drumming and screaming. Seemed like everyone there was up to something. Great stuff.

I did catch a duo I assume was Morgen und Nite doing some good synth/guitar minimalism. Bits of it sounded like Heathen Earth, which is no bad thing. Bohemian chicks and guys milled about in front of the stage looking like extras from Star Trek forced to shop in Oxfam. Groovy!

The Stella Maris Drone Orchestra took to the stage and rocked out. Apparently the line up changes each time they play, but they were assisted this time by a wicked drummer who kept up to motorik liebzeit pace with serious panache. The rest of it is a blur, but they were good, there was loads of them and they all had masks on.

First you take a heart and then you tear it apart.

The last time I was in Homerton, Paul was driving me, my better half and our baby home, playing that mix in his car after the daughter’s arrival. This was after 3 or 4 seriously trippy days, spending all day on the ward, coming home listening to Spacemen 3 and 23 Skidoo on headphones – to an empty flat soon to be filled with new life.

3 months previously a heavily pregnant better half was pounding on the door of Jah Tubbys studio to ask them about their siren effects unit.

Early 90s – serious mayhem in an abandoned warehouse, candles flickering on top of a soon to be trashed television set.

Mid 90s – Goal Magazine show up for a game of 3-sided football during Hackney Anarchy Week.

Last Thursday, 9:00am, I’m there again, this time in the Rapid Referral Chest Pain Unit. Does exactly what it says on the tin.

“I’ve got these chest pains, see? And some pain in my left arm.”

[…]

“Yeah, she’s got high blood pressure – her Mum died of it”

[…]

“No, he died in the war”

“Do you take any drugs?”

“[censored]”

“…uh, well, do you take cocaine?”

“No!”

Next thing I know, there’s about 16 electrodes strapped on my chest and I’m running full pelt on a fucking treadmill, sticking my arm out at intervals so they can test my blood pressure with one of those comedy inflatable arm bands (The “3rd Reich vs It’s a Knockout” look). And obviously, they explain to you that you can stop any time you like, but you carry on regardless, partly because you don’t want to look like a weedy git in front of the nurse and partly because you think that actually this would be a pretty good place to collapse in a heap, gasping for breath while your old ticker decides to give up the ghost, so why not?

Then sitting down, panting, watching the readout, I notice the room across the corridor. A big grey nameplate – “The Echo Lab”. Paging Dr Tubby… How cool would be to spend Thursday morning in the echo lab, listening to the own sound of your mutant heartbeat pinging away like sonar, the good Doctor adding echo and reverb accordingly?

I never made it there, though, ‘cos there’s nothing wrong with my heart. So I’ve still got pains in my chest, but I’m not about to pop off at any second because of them. Ha! Let’s ‘ave it…

press the eject and give me the tape

Paul Meme over at “shards” proudly presents:

Friday night special: John Eden’s ultimate roots ‘n’dancehall mix

90 minutes of mp3 pleasure for you all. It’s a bit strange, going back to stuff from 2000 now, especially as I was off me head when I stuck it all on tape. It’s all brought back a ton of good memories, for sure, but also reminded me of a whole heap of tunes I’d forgotten about… Apologies for the sizzla, btw.

Needless to say the tape was only intended for Paul’s ears and if you like any of the tracks you should support the artists and labels by making that purchase…