What of clubbing etiquette? Herein lies a minefield of rules and regulations, formal and informal. The kinds of dilemma that beset myself whilst on the dancefloor are as innumerable as they diffuse. For example, whilst under the influence of fine beverages or similar delights, a perennial question that bubbles out of my mental ooze; ‘I wonder if my dancing is actually really good?’ My natural self-loathing responds ‘course not, no one’s impressed’. However, the rollercoaster of emotion is not over just yet. The creeping suspicion that I might actually be rather good at this dancing lark starts to take hold, whereupon my dancing takes a more flamboyant turn; this is the moment when my dancing oscillates between ‘doomed robot’ and ‘drunken uncle hit with a cattle prod’.

Another related quandary is the presence of lady folk, and trying to interpret their complex patterns of movement. Being the self-loathing vampire that I am, obviously the presence of two X chromosomes is both rare and mystifying. Here I am, deep in the zen, thrusting and twisting like a dancefloor Nikolay Valuev, only to be hit with the half-glance of a Bambi-eyed creature that is a mere two metres away. Cue ten minutes of looking at the floor attempting to decide whether she was in fact keen, only to realise said lady has moved on, into the night, to find pastures anew.

This leads me to the next problem, that of breaking into a circle of dancers. The situation is usually initiated by a friendly looking character, who gives you a smile and some gesticulation translatable usually as ‘this music is wicked’ or ‘aww yeah’. Having joined this crew of likeminded individuals, do you try asserting your dominance and aim for the most beautiful of their peoples? This tactic, though attractive, is likely to end in pain and embarrassment, leaving you licking your wounds like a lion rejected from the pride.

Other dangers in this clubbing savannah include one accidently entering the ‘Essex Pub Quiz’ in which the questionmaster always asks ‘what are you fucking looking at?’ and ‘do you fucking want some?’ to which all possible answers are wrong.

The final issue on the dancefloor is that of the pick up. Here I take evidence from a certain French colleague of mine who apparently has an array of talent in this department. A particular favourite for securing the attention of the chosen lady, is running his finger down the length of said lady’s back. Unsurprisingly this has mixed results, most of which are of such an unsavoury nature. They are in fact unprintable.

I hope these pointers help those who find themselves in these quandaries, until then I can only hope you take care in the dangerous wilds of the clubbing landscape.

The music industry has recently been dealing with its latest crisis of file sharing and piracy with the usual bluster and pugnacity, so it comes as welcome news when someone attempts to inject some dynamism into this perennially reactionary business. This comes in the form of the news that Chuck D (of Public Enemy fame) is asking for fan funding in order to pay for his latest album. This new funding model might sound suspiciously like economics and not particularly interesting, but given the implications of the change it might just be worth some scrutiny.

If ever there was a man well qualified to position himself at the vanguard of the music industry, it would be Chuck D. The history and influence of Public Enemy is as illustrious of any Hip-Hop act in history. The albums Fear of a Black Planet and It Takes a Nation of Millions… released under Def Jam were part of the great wave of 90’s Hip-Hop, inspiring such greats as A Tribe Called Quest and Eric B. & Rakim. Full of venom and politics, it seems impossible to imagine something of their ilk being handled by any major label today, and we’re much the worse for it.

On top of his fine lyrics, Chuck D also brought in a wide range of political and afro-centric themes, which had been entirely ignored in Hip-Hop until Public Enemy’s arrival. Similarly, the fusion of rock/metal with Hip-Hop vocals has started a trend which has recently been replicated by just about every current rap artist, albeit fusing it with dance rather than metal. Clearly then – cometh the hour, cometh the man; and if this time it’s Chuck D, then so much the better.

So what is this new system? Essentially, it works a little like charity websites like ‘Justgiving.com’ in that the artist asks for a set amount of capital, and the fans then donate accordingly. What distinguishes it from straightforward charity though is the fact that when you give a certain amount (say $25) you are guaranteed a copy of the material. Thus, instead of buying the album in a shop, you ensure the production (of a potential album) and it gets delivered straight to your house. If you want to finance a larger amount, you a goody bag and if you’re crazy-rich you can buy enough to spend some time with them in the studio. Should the album never get released you’ll get your money back – which is probably what most people who bought Chinese Democracy are now wishing had been the case.

In the case of Public Enemy’s latest release they’re looking for $250,000 for the as-yet untitled offering. One question that remains however: is there enough demand for a new album and generally is there enough demand from average consumers to be making expensive, non-mainstream albums? The benefit of the SellaBand system is that the demand has to be fronted before the product hits the market, so whilst it may not be a huge success, certainly no one’s going away empty-handed. The second question is an issue – whilst the hardcore of P.E. fans may help to sponsor its creation, just as many people can share and avoid buying the album subsequently. Yet, research suggests that as music purchasing over the internet gets easier and more widespread, file-sharing will account for less of a drain on the industry. Similarly, acts like Public Enemy will always be able to rely on selling out big arenas and live shows.

Whilst this may not be the silver bullet to deal with all of the music industry’s problems, it certainly does offer a potent device for creating new work. Especially given that smaller acts can make a name for themselves on the live circuit and then mobilise fans for relatively modest donations, this system may well lower the entry-level for artists starting out in the industry. Whilst lots of it may not be very good quality, surely more music and more production can only increase the likelihood of finding new Public Enemy’s and Chuck D’s? If that’s the case, then I’m all in.

I’m going to be frank with all you intrepid readers of this column, I’m taking the cheap route and starting this with a bit of recursive writing. Were it that I was either better prepared for this or had a reasonable amount of ability, I would have avoided this seedy alley and taken the much brighter vista of using an appropriate literary technique. My only promise will be avoidance of some of the cliché that is characteristic of these kinds of writing – perhaps I’ll flag up some of the primest examples as I go.

So how have I managed to end up in this situation – totally unprepared and patently under-qualified to hold your attention for the next five minutes or so? Well, the painful realities of third year are already besieging my woefully under-equipped mind. Thus, the joys of Wittgenstein and the state of Lebanon are currently competing for my attention, along with the Xbox, Peep Show and this fine publication.

This, in of itself, is no great news – which leads me neatly into my first cliché flag of the day: how tired and overworked us third years are. I’m sure I’ll be extremely overworked and stressed by January 2010, but one thing I won’t be doing is telling y’all about how tired I am, despite drinking my second Martini of the night in Evil Eye (a cocktail establishment of reasonable repute on Stonegate, for those that are interested). It’s the student equivalent of hearing a grumpy old man describing the difficulties of life ‘back in the day’. Whilst I’m not knocking the general eradication of Polio in today’s Britain, stories of walking uphill both ways to school just don’t make for interesting reading. Student journalists, much like their septugenarian forefathers, make the critical mistake of thinking that because they’re in a situation of relative esteem, that tedious rants are more than just extensive moan-sessions.

Nonetheless, being presented with the likelihood of actually studying the equivalent of a normal person’s working day is somewhat daunting. The joys of normal activity are still coming as a shock – waking regularly at 8am, actually going outside at some point before lunch time, looking forward to reclining in my cream faux leather sofa at the end of day. It’s almost like being a real person… except for the massive amounts of residual laziness of course. The evolution from primordial inactivity to owning my very own work ethic is pretty surprising.

And bam! I almost sleepwalk into cliché number two: that despite all the tribulations and so forth, we all grow up and learn so much from our York experience. I’m not entirely sure what to make of this, in that I’ve certainly got better at doing stuff, but I have a feeling that celebrating this development is about as extraordinary and as impressing as loudly pronouncing your improved toilet training between the ages of two and eight.

Whilst it would no doubt be impressively reactionary to avoid getting any more responsible as you go throughout university, surely this is the kind of basic requirement of growing up that only us middle-class kids could herald as an extraordinary achievement. Insofar as I’m qualified to give analysis (entirely not, as it turns out), the beauty of university is both the dank laziness of first year – with the sweeping tundra of hangover after hangover – and the increasing desire for preoccupations of a more wholesome kind. The problem lies in writing about it in such a way that imbues it with more glory than it really deserves.

But I shouldn’t be moaning about the (perhaps largely imagined) foibles of campus journalism and lazy documentation of university ‘facts of life’. This is a freshers’ edition after all, so let’s notch up the happy-metre and have a peek at the extraordinary phenomenon that is Fresher’s Week. To any outsider it’s probably as comprehensible as trying to catch catfish with your fists. It is, for most of us is an orgy of Carlsberg, cheap wine and enthusiasm. The temptation is to bemoan the transient nature of these drunken misadventures, or to celebrate the insobriety of it all. So once again, what do we make of it all?

As far as I’m concerned it’s a fine coming of age ritual – about as pleasant as those more regularly covered by the National Geographic channel – and just as tribal. To those that avoid the alcohol, I applaud their judgement. Although never fear, the associated rites of awkward conversations and dealing with the people down the corridor who either a) engage in violently loud intercourse, or b) play their drum and bass ‘til 4am still have to be negotiated. Enjoy!

The term ‘rave’ is as contested a concept as any that exists within popular music. For some a rave should only ever mean a free party, preferably in a field or a warehouse, for others the term is just for a type of 90′s hard house, and for quite a few others rave just means neon paint and glowsticks. Whatever it is, the resurgence of ‘rave’ themed nights and accompanying neon paraphernalia suggests that rave is returning to popular consciousness. However, despite this more recent awareness there has been one night flying the flag for loud, obnoxious bass and filthy good times. That night is Bang Face. Its currently based in Electrowerkz (near Angel in London), which is the kind of club where the walls start sweating and when the bass gets going, the masonry doesn’t look up to the task. The perfect spiritual home then for this kind of night.

I talked to the founder of Bang Face, who is known as James St.Acid. I asked him how Bang Face was conceived, “Bang Face came around by accident really, I’d been doing free parties for years and… started DJing more in London at mates’ warehouse parties. I was being pretty reckless with the mashup of music styles and it all went from there. The positive vibes made me start up BF in 2003 as a free party in a converted public toilet. It really felt like people were up for having a laugh at parties again and I started using the Neo-Rave tag to sum up what was happening”. One of the noticeable features of Bang Face is the crowd (known as affectionately as ‘Hard Crew’), a motley mix of trendy kids, old ravers and everything in-between. I wondered whether this had always been the case? “The age range of the Hard Crew has definitely widened over the years. It started out as a group of mates…now we have first time ravers partying with ex-punks in their 40s! It seems the true spirit of partying is ageless.”

With the widening of the crowd and this recent heads-up to rave culture, had Bang Face been helped along due an increased awareness of a more fun spirited type of clubbing experience? “Maybe! I started raving in the early nineties and its great to look back and try to recapture the spirit of that time with the music of today.” The intention seems to be to get a blend of old skool acts and newer, breakcore DJs. With that in mind I asked which James thought had been the best, “Oh it’s impossible to pick out the best acts because so many have played and in such a diverse way. Some people think the early Rephlex live acid shows we did at the start to 100 people were the best, some say 808 State playing the final set live at our last weekender in Camber Sands was the best. Also the wide range of music styles played at Bang Face makes it an impossible call. I’m really proud of the Altern-8 revival from DJing in a basement for us, to a live stage show reunion!”.

This summer sees the beginning of ‘BangFest’ festival: “We’ve done big summer parties as part of the Glade festival for the last 3 years and we really want to have our own summer bash. The venue is amazing, set in the beautiful grounds of Somerleyton Hall in the Suffolk countryside. Its all about recapturing the original ethic and vibe of early rave with a Bang Face style festival twist”. If that sounds like an empty threat, find the photos of the Bang Face weekender.

One brilliant aspect of Bang Face is the preponderance of A4 banners in the crowd, with legends like, ‘I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts’, and (my personal favourite) ‘I’ve deffo fucked the degree up’. James enlightened me to their provenance, “The banners started really early…I took an A3 whiteboard along to one with a load of pens and the first banners with hand written on the spot. It was hilarious to see people expressing random thoughts over the music. Now people send them in…often around each rave theme. Its become a way of Hard Crew galvanising each other during the party.”

For those who want to find the best of what ‘rave’ represents – wild hedonism and keeping your tongue firmly in your cheek, then look no further than Bang Face this summer.

But I suppose this is the nature of the beast. Fans come to love whichever musician they take to and, being the type of shy, retiring people they are, musicians are drawn to this like bears to honey. The problem is that these musicians then believe the hype, which thus further fuels an upward spiral of collective bum-kissing. But who are the worst of this shambling crew? I personally find Heavy Metal fans to be one of the more dangerous beasts, unassuming at first, the metal fans will sit in the corner, Judas Priest t-shirt at the ready, happy to do their thing. Then bam! The merest mention that metal is less than orchestra-led music of the nordic gods, and this once gentle creature will spend hours regaling you about its beautiful complexity. If you can’t tell Frank Frazetta from William Blake, then you’ve got problems. Anyway, I don’t have any personal beef with the metal fan, its just that I don’t want to be told how awesome it is.

Far more amazing than the hordes of leather-clad head bangers, is the fact that there is huge pantheon of musicians and artists who are by any standard, absolute bastards, yet maintain either critical integrity or a hardcore of deluded fans. Truly, these fans are the beaten wives of the music relationship, convinced that by staying faithful to R Kelly he might not force them to ‘enjoy’ the latest unpalatable morsel left for them. Certain that next Friday he will return sober and refrain from chucking them down the musical stairwell. Whilst I buy the logic that one should judge the music purely on its aesthetic grounds, once these people become unimpeachable due to their popularity, surely there’s a problem.

We keep coming back for more, convinced that whichever artist will maintain their musical integrity, despite the fact they continue to profit from our misty-eyed infatuation, and follow straightforwardly unpleasant lifestyles. The music doesn’t stop being good because the person is a bastard, but fans should certainly separate the two.

It appears to me that there is no better an expression of youthful energy and joy in life than the humble house-party. Made iconic in a thousand music videos, (anyone remember the Jimmy Eat World ‘The Middle’ video?) and another thousand American High School series, surely this represents the high-water mark of socialising? There is a special kind of pleasure to be had knowing that in one building, there is likely to be at least two people inexpertly ‘making love’, some others passed out, and another sat clinging to the toilet like a mariner on a sinking ship. The house-party represents an enchanted world comprised of deferred responsibilities, misplaced optimism (that stain will come out no problem, right?) and free from mortgages.

This leads me to wonder about the taxonomy of the house-party, and the consequent etiquette that each type entails. What is the free-wheeling, amorous gentleman to do in such an event? At the large, music-oriented party should the gentleman consider the dance floor his theatre of battle, or negotiate the whimsical charms of the crowds of randoms that await? The dance floor lures the naïve gentlemen into its heady cacophony – however, being by nature a wandering creature he may likely shun the music and dancing, and head into the crowds of expectant strangers. Ready to cause quite the stir with well-timed bons mots and verbal ripostes, he cruises through the currents of people like a schooner smuggling rum upon the waves of the Caribbean. Of course, the physical pay-off of the gentlelady’s embrace is somewhat more distant and the chance of the gentleman’s slurring words causing confusion to the unaccustomed simpleton, is a dangerous possibility. Into the wind he sails once more.

Similarly, at the smaller kind of box-social, which provides its audio stimuluous by way of iPod or the like, a whole new set of dangers arise. The Sylla and Charybdis of someone choosing bland lad-rock besets the gentleman with quite the dilemma. Undoubtedly emboldened by the port and brandy he has consumed along his adventures, the gentleman (certain in the knowledge of his unassailable taste) attempts to play an uplifting polka on the much abused sound system. But, should he do this, the potential pitchfork-wielding mob of the initiated heathens may shun his esteemed choice. Thus, the problems that beset the gentleman at all stages of the house party are numerous and dangerous too. But spurred on by his noble quest of consuming the finest alcohols and disseminating his finely poised wit, the gentleman plows on into the night.  

Not sure what to do with your summer? Got a couple of hundred quid? Well find the wellington boots, your tent and head out to one of Nouse’s top picks.

1 The origins of Beach Break Live sounds like the stuff of student urban legend: student founders Celia Norowzian and Ian Forshew pooled their loans to create a new festival just for students, on the coast of Cornwall. Two years on from its humble beginnings, Beach Break Live has been featured on Dragon’s Den and expanded its capacity to 10,000.

The Main Stage features chart-toppers Dizzee Rascal, Noisettes, The Zutons, Ladyhawke and the Mystery Jets, and the main dance marquee will be hosting Chase & Status, Scratch Perverts, DJ Yoda and Caspa & Rusko.

‘The Quarry’ stage is a naturally occurring rock quarry with underground (literally) drum & bass, techno and electro acts, while the ‘Club Tropicana’ stage showcases upcoming talent, whilst the new ‘Chai Wallah’ tent has an eclectic range of genre-defying artists.

Other venues on site include a Moustache Bar and events such as the Mighty Cornish Games (including the ‘Granny Grand Prix’, ‘Who ate all the Cornish Delicacies?’ and more), a dance-off, a silent disco – all of this against the beautiful beach setting of the festival. Running from June 16th-19th with scores of bands and random events to keep you entertained, as well as a reasonable price tag of £84 for the four days, Beach Break could be the perfect alternative to the bigger festivals.

2 If you like your dance, and you like it hard, then Creamfields held in Daresbury, Chesire, is the festival you’ve been looking for. There is little chance of you finding such acts as Tiesto, Mylo, Paul Van Dyk, Pete Tong, Erol Alkan, Basement Jaxx, David Guetta, 2manydjs and Dizzee Rascal, all in the same place anywhere else in Britain this summer.

Ten years of classic dance heritage is packed into forty eight hours of wide eyed, dance fuelled mayhem.
For those on a budget, Creamfields is considerably cheaper than the ‘mainstream music’ festivals, with early bird weekend camping tickets going for just £100.

3 Global Gathering Located at Long Marston Airfield, Stratford Upon Avon, Global is one for those who like their dance music, but don’t count 70’s Swedish electronica amongst their passions. The acts are world renowned, unpretentious, and distinctly enjoyable.

As ubiquitous as they are fun, the line up includes Fedde Le Grande, Paul Van Dyk and Drum & Bass gatecrashers, Pendulum. However, despite all these club-floor filler, there is the odd act for the music geek in you, such as the Dutch breakbeat turned breakcore Dj Noisia or electro sweetheart, Erol Alkan.

The live stage also looks pretty lively, with Does It Offend You, Yeah?, Frankmusic and The Whip all vying to keep you entertained, should the Djs give you a moment to spare.

Tickets cost £115, but that includes camping and parking. If you’re feeling flush, (a gentleman/woman entertains during a recession, I’m told) a VIP ticket is a princely £175 but gives you access to the delightful Ibiza Angels, who’s purpose in life are to massage you back to full vigour after a day and night’s worth of boogieing.

4 Taking place between the 12th & 14th June 2009, and held, somewhat surprisingly considering the name, on the Isle of Wight (don’t worry Jersey’s the one with the child abuse), the Isle of Wight Festival promises one of the most diverse line-ups of the British Festival scene.

Sadly it died post-Manson and Monterey in 1970 yet Christ-like it was revived post-milennium and has since played hosted to the Muse, Coldplay and David Bowie.

This year’s offering has no less prestigious a headliner, Mr. Neil Young Esq. But if you like all these new fangled bands I suppose Stereophonics, Razorlight (read shite), and probably the greatest band of the 80’s, the Pixies are playing.

For all you baggy trousered ‘ravers’ they’ve booked the Prodigy, Basement Jaxx and Pendulum. For the skinny jeaned among you, get moody and mopey in the summer sun to Maxïmo Park and White Lies.

Off the beaten track of the main stage there’s a treasure trove of audio delights to be had. If by any chance you’re having a hen party mid-June head to the Friday line-up at the Big Top – they’ve only gone and got Banana bleedin’ rama to play!

Alesha Dixon off ‘Strictly Come Dancing’ is also playing so expect large amounts of screaming 30 something women. In stark contrast to the pink and fluffy Friday line-up, the last day at the Big Top is the big seller for me.

And so you’ve got it all – indie, rave, goth, pop, punk, and folk – all in one festival. Tickets are priced at £120 for an adult camper.

Further Afield

EXIT: This festival, taking place near Novi Sad in Serbia, may not initially sound like the most inspiring of events. Admittedly, Serbia is probably known to most people as the home of Milosevic and chums, but don’t write it off just yet. Exit was born out of local resentment towards the aforementioned crook’s designs for militant nationalism, and so is well rooted in the anti-establishment sentiment that we associate with the ever-famous Woodstock. It lies in the shadow of the deeply un-communist bloc architecture of Petrovaradin Fortress, which probably beats a few fields in Somerset.

In terms of music, this year sees the Arctic Monkeys and Lily Allen alongside Korn and The Prodigy. Exit tends towards either the ‘mainstream’, or to the dance-oriented. In fact, one the undoubted feathers in Exit’s cap must be the fact that the dance stage attracts anyone from international uber-cool like James Zabiela (2007) or Eric Prydz to house godfathers, Green Velvet of ‘Lala Land’ fame.

The ticket price is pretty reasonable at £72 for 4 days, with a camping pass costing an extra £15. Given the almost certain sunshine, this price represents a great deal.

SZIGET:pronounced ‘see-get’, this Hungarian music festival runs from the 12th–17th of August, can cater for up to 80,000 festival goers and sees some massive acts including, Placebo, Lily Allen, Bloc Party, Fatboy Slim, Primal Scream, and many more.
The largest venues are the Main Stage, World Music Stage and a new tent

showcasing electronic music, while other tents have everything from hard rock to Romani music. There are many other arts events, such as nightly performances by the Catalan Street Circus and art exhibitions.
Whilst playing host to international acts and fans from across the globe, this festival also holds a great opportunity to experience the Hungarian culture in those ‘between band’ moments. There is a stage devoted specifically to Hungarian acts, and the new ‘Hungaricum Village’ with traditional cuisine, craftwork and artwork on offer. Sziget can’t be faulted for value for money – a camping ticket secures access to the site from the 10th–17th of

August for just €180 (roughly £160). Additional expenses aren’t as dear as their British counterparts either – you can grab yourself a pint for just €1.50 at Sziget. So why settle for another rainy British festival?

HELLFEST: Of late, metal on British shores been poorly served by the festival circuit. The Download festival has usurped Monsters of Rock at Donington, metal’s spiritual home, and replaced the greats with such headliners as Lostprophets and The Offspring – hardly the rock juggernauts of yore.

Thus it is essential for metalheads to make a seasonal migration to Europe to enjoy the best festivals. Set in the South of Paris, between 19th-21st June, Hellfest is the most accessible and righteous metal festival on the continent. The headliners are a special mix: Friday sees both Black Sabbath and Mötley Crüe play, Saturday Marilyn Manson and Machine Head, and on Sunday Manowar.

Official Secrets Act Q&A

Official Secrets Act are an indie-pop outfit from North London in the vein of Bloc Party and the Futureheads. They are becoming increasingly renowned for their clever lyrics and co-ordinated dress sense, and remain a favourite of the nation’s musical press. Led by frontman Thomas Charge Burke, they are playing Beach Break Live, Glastonbury and Rockness this summer. The band, currently touring with Art Brut around Europe, tells MUSE about their festival experiences.

What are your favourite memories of playing at a festival?

We just played Stortford festival this weekend. It was a small independent festival run by local people to promote the local music scene, very DIY and very cool, and they asked us to come down and headline the main stage on the saturday night after we’d done Live at Leeds that afternoon. So we finished our Live @ Leeds performance in the main room at the cockpit, jumped into the Van, battered down the motorway to Stortford, leaving a trail of glitter and dreams behind us, drank a pint of real ale under the waning evening sun, then walked on stage to hundreds of mental kids moshing their hearts out and singing along, while Mario our tour manager tried in vain to stop stage invasions.

The crowd started out by requesting songs (“PLAY MAINSTREAM”, “PLAY SELL SELL SELL” etc) But by the end were concentrating on specific instruments “PLAY THE FRENCH HORN”, “PLAY THE CASIO AGAIN”. It all culminated with some girl stealing Alex’s microphone to sing backing vocals on Be My Baby, and Tom crowd surfing to the back of the Tent. It was a perfect end to the first evening of summer.

What’s the best festival performance you’ve seen?

The four of us were smuggled into Leeds 2007 by some very kind people. It was the first time the 4 of us had been out together after playing all summer in our Manchester rehearsal space squat.
I think somewhere between Kings Of Leon laying waste to the main stage, and drinking straight bourbon from the bottle while Arcade Fire wailed their hearts out, we realised what OSA was going to be about. Heart, soul, passion and getting drunk on hopes, fears, and alcohol with your friends.

Are there any particular items to bring to a festival that you cant do without? you can’t do without?

Wet Wipes. Do the essentials, put on a crisp white T-shrit, smear a line of your favourite eye shadow across your cheek and face the world.

Have you had any nightmare festival experiences?

Not mine, but at the first Reading I ever went to (Weezer at Reading 01, perfection!) my best friend got food poisoning on a massive level and was dehydrating rather dangerously in his tent. His girlfriend was an absolute hero and carried him to the station and home. It wasn’t the same festival fun without him.

What can we expect from your performance at Beach Break Live?

We’ve been taking our horizon scanning, escapist sound everywhere we could over these last few months but we haven’t done it by the seaside yet. We say we’re a heart and soul band. We try and move brains and feet, and we leave a little bit of ourselves on the stage every night I think.
We wrote our album Understanding Electricity, in the summer sitting in the garden at Alex and Mike’s house, but then we recorded it during the heavy onset of autumn. We still trying to figure out if it’s a summer or winter sounding album. Maybe we’ll try and find out at Beach Break Live. Have some kind of straw poll.
However we might just abandon this plan and march everyone down to the beach for a big swim along sing along. I don’t know. It will be something special though I promise.

What would be your perfect soundtrack to a summer night on the beach?

- The Stranglers, ‘Peaches’
- Weezer, ‘Surf Wax America’
- REM, ‘Nightswimming’
- Beach Boys, ‘Surfin’ Safari’
- All Saints, ‘Pure Shores’

For every genre that becomes mainstream, or influences the mainstream, there has to be an odder, less straightforward artistic force in the background. With the rise of hip-hop was the funk and blues inspired Herbie Hancock and the like, who ushered the way for the eminently talented and accessible Sugarhill Gang and Grandmaster Flash. Similarly, rock’n’roll – a genre that almost looks twee now, had its beginnings in the raucous, aggressively sexual music of Muddy Waters or Little Walter. So what to make of electro? This is a genre which is almost synonymous with House, and is the standard fare of chain pubs or clubs with names like ‘Life’ or ‘Streetlightz’. Clearly, this doesn’t do it justice, whether Fedde Le Grand is your thing or not, there is a great deal of other music which can respectably adopt the name ‘electro’. The most salient examples of this are the now iconic duo of Gaspard Auge and Xavier de Rosnay – otherwise known as Justice. Embodying the best of energetic, playful and explorative music adopting a position in the limelight, one is left to wonder where does their music and energy come from?

Step up, Ed Banger, a record label that more than any other harnessed the initial upsurge of interest in and output from, ‘electro’ producers; their early output consisting not only of the ubiquitous Justice, but SebastiAn, Uffie, and Mr.Oizo. This range of music encapsulates everything from the eminently danceable and accessible, to the crazy bleeps and mash-ups of Mr.Oizo known to most for his ‘Flat Beat’ track with the puppet, Flat Eric in the Levi’s ad of old. What makes Ed Banger more than an (admittedly, extremely good) run-of-the-mill record label, is their incredibly well coordinated graphics and artwork, courtesy of Bertrand Sommie, who is known as So Me. That bloody great cross that’s all over Justice gigs? Yeah, that’s him. With all the artists within the Ed Banger stable, So Me has created a particular look, along with the Ed Banger aesthetic in general. One’s of particular note are the cover artwork for SebastiAn (‘Ross Ross Ross’ EP), Uffie (‘Pop the Glock’ EP) and DJ Mehdi (‘Lucky Boy’ album). As for Ed Banger’s ‘look’ it seems to be taken from cartoons, doodling and generally by people who don’t know or care about the rules of ‘design’.

This brashness and energy has resulted in some of the best videos, as well as music, in the dance/electronica scene of late. A particularly fitting example of this is when the ‘We are Your Friends’ video beat Kanye West’s ‘Touch the Sky’ at the European MTV awards, memorably stating ‘MTV loses credibility if I don’t win’. He subsequently went on to work with Pedro Winter of Ed Banger. Other examples of So Me’s work includes Justice’s ‘D.A.N.C.E’ video – one of the most inventive music videos ever made.

So why should you be interested in them if you’re just not that interested by this odd, perhaps pretentious group of people? Well, aside for the above reasons, its always interesting to know where something came from – in this case the more mainstream of electro/house. For every artist that uses the kind of sound and look that is associated with electro – it’s likely a label like Ed Banger had something to do with it at the beginning. If you’ve seen Kid Cudi’s ‘Day and Night’ video, you’ve seen So Me’s work; and if the idea of a mainstream hip-hop influenced by Parisian boys with beards doesn’t bring a smile to your face, I can’t think what else will.

And just like that, I seem to have been sucked into the world of Chris Dane Owen’s musical journey that is ‘Shine On Me’. This is a trilogy of the most epic kind, (find it on Youtube) involving a healthy dose of dragons and smug-looking men in blouses, made priceless by a joyful lack of irony. One can feel one’s tongue boring through their cheek just to make up for the amount of unadulterated wistful staring and power chords. If Bryan May and Peter Jackson decided to live in a cottage in Vermont for two years, this is what they’d have made by the end of it. On the scale of geek affection, this must probably beat pirates, zombies AND ninjas. If this sounds like I’m mocking it, I’m not. If ever the phrase “I reject your reality and replace it with my own” was instantiated more honestly and innocently than this, I’ve yet to see it.

By way of contrast to this epic fantasy-quest, I feel R Kelly’s ‘Trapped In the Closet’ deserves a mention. In a similar vein to the above, this ‘hip-hopera’ (yes, it exists) is available on Youtube in as many chapters as you can bear, as powerful a testament to the force of wilful self-deception as has ever existed. ‘Trapped In the Closet’ begins with the main protagonist Sylvester (R.Kelly), waking up in a mysterious woman’s bed. Needless to say, her husband returns, informing the title of said masterpiece. If you can imagine a conversation spoken by way of imitating R.Kelly’s songs, then essentially you’ve nailed the conversational tone adopted for all 22 chapters. Such gems include, “not only is there a man in his cabinet, but the man is a midget! MIDGET! MIDGET! MIDGET!”. Clearly R.Kelly imagines a world festooned with handy hiding places (to be fair, a situation that is already the case for midgets, I suspect) for adulterous lovers. On top of the mind-bending level of absurdity, R.Kelly’s sexual exploits have all the subtlety and realism of those related to you by your fourteen year old classmate who had a ‘girlfriend in Scotland’ who you never met. Actually, that’s probably not the most absurd moment, whilst I got lost in all the opera, I forgot – R.Kelly is gansta. He draws out his piece, in what is probably the most incongruous weapons-handling moment on film since…ever. I mean, he’s got corn-rows, you know who else has those? Axl Rose. And like Axl Rose I’d be much more worried about leaving him with my kids than whatever steel he’s got in his waistband.

Now I’d better return to the foetid reaches of the internet, the sun light is starting to hurt me.

I think where the charm lies in this whole contrast can be located via a quick thought experiment. I struggle to imagine the boisterous adherents of ‘Rave D’ (resplendent with glowsticks and facepaint) in either one of the two conceptual homes of the ‘rave’ idea that is currently being utilised. The first is: German 90’s Techno Festival (pink hair and people of ambiguous sex) and the second: Free Party In A Barn Just Outside Peterborough. Quite frankly both involve a quantity of drugs that would shock Iggy himself, and somehow I can’t imagine the Derwent netball team up to their eyes in horse tranquilisers. Similarly, how many of said RaveD’ers want to spend a night with either a Jean-Claude Van Damme look-a-like sporting baggy camo pants or a slightly unhinged Bez replica, still enjoying 5 grams of Speed a night, aged 40?

The other interesting similarity is the absolute dearth of cool that is synonymous with both. Maybe ubiquity isn’t cool, but the general trend of neon inspired iconography is testament to its ‘now’ status, something palpably lacking in the eurotrash or free party examples. Neither fairy wings, nor white girls with dreds are cool. Then there’s the music – as far as I know, raves of back in the day involved a lot of Hard House and Happy Harcore, possibly the least loved dance genres around. We just don’t want synth piano and ‘RINSE IT AAHHT’ arresting our ear drums these days. Again, with the modern rave example, Breakcore and Psy-Trance aren’t exactly competing with Pendulum for airtime at the moment. In case you’re interested, Breakcore plays at around 200 bpm plus, and counts such artists as Alan Titmash, Bong-Ra and Shitmat amongst its poster-boys.

All this is vaguely amusing, but it points to something slightly saddening about music, at least dance music at the moment. The idea of a DIY scene involving a group of people building a huge sound system, finding a warehouse and having fun is, in principle, pretty cool. Like Punk, or Skiffle before it, the idea of a youth-generated, amateur music scene is uniquely healthy. Today we have Fabric and Eric Prydz.

Anyway, the next time you don the pink fishnets and facepaint, give a thought to the rave pioneers. At least (presumably because they were free) the old rave scene was fairly democratic: now we have the emergence of the ‘Rahver’. Like indie, dance music seems to have been settled by the skiing classes.

But, finally, I uncovered a real gem. The one that just doesn’t bear explanation is porno music. I mean, which skin-flick producer was thinking, “this is great and all, but it just needs something else, a bit more, y’know, production value” and then bam, “Sax! Man I’m good at this.” Maybe I’m naïve. Perhaps even at the beginning of porn (when was that, by the way?) there were some brisk overtures in the background. Be that as it may, when did ‘porno-groove’ begin its sordid existence? I fear this may be one of those questions that will ring through the ages, along with the harder metaphysical questions of categorical imperatives and the like. Whoever found a guitar, rigged up a Wah-wah pedal and started laying down some gentle licks deserves a medal for inadvertently creating the most hilarious sub-genre in existence. In the course of writing this I’ve managed to find such tracks as, ‘Bedtime Bongos’, ‘Love Dance’, and the quite frankly filthy, ‘I Can’t Believe I Ate The Whole Thing.’ It’s like Ron Burgundy returned from Pleasuretown with as much vinyl as he could carry. Its influence on popular culture, though small, is noticeable – the Beastie Boys give it a nod in ‘Shake Your Rump’ and most obviously in ‘Hey Ladies’, the video of which is itself extremely funny.

So, this also got me thinking, what do people listen to when actually getting it on? As I’m not human but a robot, I wouldn’t know anything about the complexities of human sexual reproduction, beyond that of an interested spectator. So when I was told of my friend getting it on to the dulcet tunes of the (now closed) radio station ‘The Jazz’ I couldn’t help a chuckle. The DJ, expecting to please some late-night experimental latin boogaloo afficionados, was in fact providing an accompaniment to the inexpert love making of two students. When I asked my friend what the point of the music was he said, “well, at least it fills the uncomfortable silences.” A noble objective for any art form.

Enter: “The Don”, “Soul-Brother Number One”, “The Hardest-Working Man In Show Business”, James Brown himself. As some of you may know, James Brown died on none other than Christmas Day, 2006. Perhaps this event could give some meaning to my otherwise dangerously circumspect rejoicing. Whilst he could have timed it better (with Easter perhaps?), James didn’t do badly. Instead of celebrating the birth of Jesus, I suggest we celebrate the ending of the extraordinary funksmanship that was James Brown’s life. My proposition is thus: for those of us who don’t believe in the crucial aspects of Jesus Christ that warrant celebrating his birth, how about celebrating the death of quite possibly the funkiest man ever born? This is a man whose song names include: ‘Hot Pants’, ‘Get Up’, ‘I Feel Good’ and ‘Papa’s Got A Brand New Bag’. This was a man who could command as impressive an array of suggestive nonsense as has ever been seen before. In response to the question (whilst on Fox News, about to his imminent divorce), “What will you say to your fans about this?” “I feel good…papa’s got a brand new bag, it’s a man’s world!” Indeed.

His final years were much like his first, turbulent and complicated. His rise was as unlikely as it was extraordinary. He never knew his father and was raised by his aunt, who ran a bordello house (father never around, socialised with prostitutes… Remind you of anyone?). He later joined a gospel choir, the first step towards his subsequent rise to fame. Whilst off-stage his life was always unconventional, his contribution to the black power movement and to the soul and funk genres are worthy of praise. Modern hip-hop and R’n’B owe as great a debt to James Brown as any other musician in history. So much so that Michael Jackson cited him as his foremost influence in both music and dance repertoires. 

In addition, funk, much like Christmas, is extremely good for alleviating the winter blues. Go watch a video of one of his performances on Youtube and try not to be invigorated. I’m fairly sure it’s impossible. What then, could be more apt to dispel the midwinter gloom? In the words of the great man himself, “When I’m on stage, I’m trying to do one thing: bring people joy. Just like church does. People don’t go to church to find trouble, they go there to lose it.”

Like politics, many people profess to be open-minded, yet when pushed display partisan or downright reactionary opinions. Suddenly, the person who was previously a benign Times reader (good crossword)/Bob Marley listener (pretty relaxing, vaguely inoffensive) metamorphoses into your very own household Bernard Manning. Like a bit of casual racism over the breakfast table, on hearing of some glaring musical judgement, one tends to grit one’s teeth and hope Bernard will disappear and the crossword will be resumed. Being a fan of Michael Howard or Wings doesn’t make you a bad person, but it does indicate a level of defiance that is pretty perplexing to a sizeable amount of our contemporaries.

So this is my plea: if the Americans can vote Obama, surely we can lose some of our musical apathy and ditch some of the saccharine R’n'B? As with politics, even though some people’s opinions outrage and infuriate me, I don’t think there’s anything more deflating than apathy breeding low expectation. The great thing about both politics and music is by entering into it you feel part of a group – you’ve made the effort (to buy the cd/go to the gig/vote, whatever) and at best it’s positively life affirming. You want to see some Post-emo-nu-core? Fine; it’s got to be more satisfying than the £30 that disappeared last Tuesday at Tru.

Obviously, we don’t go to the York clubs for the music, barring perhaps the 2% who really like ‘Summer of 69′ (sorry, y’all but I’m branding you as the musical equivalent of UKIP), and fair enough. But next Wednesday, why not ditch the heady combo of 5 bottles of Lambrini and Ziggy’s, and go for the 2 bottles of Lambrini and music you care about combo? You might not pull that neon-encrusted whatever-soc from Alcuin, but it’s pleasures might be a bit less transient…and the Americans voted in Obama – I mean, come on.

The inevitable claims of musical elitism that often stem from a position like this are, unfortunately, impossible to prove demonstrably wrong – and to wheel out the much abused cliché, ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder’. I suppose I don’t really dislike all those Bryan Adam fans, it just that, as with all those Michael Howard advocates, there appears to be something genetically hard-wired in me which will forever preclude any empathy I may have for such people’s opinions.

So this Wednesday (due to my searing analysis, understanding, etc.) , I’m going to be doing the musical equivalent of voting for Ralph Nader – I’m going to Ziggy’s for the cheese, but doing it only to appreciate Bryan’s subtle messages behind the lyrics. Or perhaps it’s because I can’t be arsed to travel to Leeds and actually, truth be told, I kinda like 5ive.

The easiest way to categorise them would be as indie-electro-pop,  something that hints at their wide range of influences, but crucially they, ‘marry the dance ethic with the pop ethic, and make something that you can dance to and sing along to.’ The eminently enjoyable ‘Ice Cream’ is a shining example of this happy union. Along with their dangerously infectious sound and lead-singer Tahita Bulmer’s stage presence, they make for quite the live experience too.

Armed with this knowledge I talked to Andy, their guitarist. The first album, Fantastic Playroom was shortlisted for a Mercury award and generally recieved a good deal of critical success, although commercially it was less blockbusting: “Well by the time it came out all the hype and press had us all vainly believing it was going to be huge but originally we were just happy that we sold 500 copies of ‘Ice Cream’ on 7. So, yes, it did much better than we had orginally hoped or dreamed even.”

They’re back in the studio working on a new album, although will it sound like the New Young Pony Club we know? “No, it’s not in a similar direction – but it’ll still sound like us, of course,” Andy reveals.

Due to the electro influence in their music, various tracks such as ‘Ice Cream’ have been extensively remixed, something which has not been entirely welcome: “Most of them we didn’t care for and we didn’t agree with but some were great. ‘Phones Mix’ and ‘The Hooks’ remixes were standouts for me”.

Andy talks about what’s been keeping them occupied recently: “Well we’ve done some interesting stuff this year including collaborating with lots of big names for a charity record called ‘Consequences’ and doing a duet with up and coming artist Cocknbullkid. I’m producing some music for other bands but mostly we are just writing our album. We are also DJing here and there which is fun, it’s nice to be able to play our favourite records to people.”

Given that they also dip their toes into the pop genre it was interesting to hear his disenfranchisement with the bulk of chart pop, an unorthodox move for a band such as this: “To be honest I have given up listening to chart music. I realised a while back that the chart basically no longer represents the choice of people who like music, it’s for all the people who don’t really like music but still buy one or two records a year because they read about them in the paper. This is the mainstream, but good music for me is now all about the niche and there is lots and lots of that which is great.”

They are certainly exploring the exciting and unashamedly fun elements of the electro-indie genre. Even the most casual of indie fans has become used to the strip mining of the early 80s sound and so New Young Pony Club’s emphasis on the content (such as Bulmer’s eclectic vocals), not the trend, puts them on a sure footing for the future.

With the rest of the Modular stable (LadyHawke, The Presets, Van She, Shychild, Frankmusik) all making an impact on the music scene, things are looking good for New Young Pony Club.