On my way back from Literary Death Match (won by Dan Holloway) in Shoreditch, London last night, I couldn’t get a vegetarian pizza in the bar above M&S at Waterloo as they’d stopped serving food, so I went to Burger King instead. A few minutes after I sat down with my Piri Piri Meal, a nice gentleman in an apron asked me to move so he could bring his sandwich trolley inside (closing time being popular at around 23.30hrs still in our Medieval capital, I see).
So I took my tray to another table, and was shortly joined by a couple of nice older ladies looking very smart, and while I wondered why they were up so late they began discussing “the performance” and that “He should have worn a nice black suit and bow tie, a bit George Clooney, a bit more Frank Sinatra”. As I became silently more intrigued, their snippets included “Yes, it was different… I do worry what the reviews will be like.”
At the word ‘Reviews’, I swallowed the last of my lettuce and butted in.
“Who did you go to see?”
“Cliff Richard. At the Albert Hall. He’s 70, you know.”
I didn’t know, but gave it the automatic thumbs-up for that achievement. It was unanimous. Who cares what the reviews say, if he’s still performing at 70, good on him.
“So what was he wearing?” I’m imagining a woolly cardigan and checked trousers… er, but I don’t know why I’m also picturing Fred Durst from Limp Bizkit. I get that a lot lately.
“All white, with tails. It was a bit, I don’t know, too much - black would have been better. It’s called the Big Band Sound. He didn’t play his usual stuff, it was more suited to the band. But he sang all the way through, it was very impressive. For his age. He’s doing six nights only, all at the Albert Hall - full up, it was.”
If a 70-year-old can change his tune AND fill The Royal Albert Hall (and wear whatever he damn well pleases, I’m guessing), then rock on, buddy.
Even though I agree that a bit of George Clooney would be welcome in anyone’s book.
So - I go and catch my train and play with the FM radio on my phone. I finally get a signal as we’re passing Clapham Junction, and ten minutes into my return journey, Huw Stephens gives the best introduction to a track I’ve heard in a long time:
“…this guy has been voted our best Tweet ever with ‘A Spider The Size Of My Fist Crawled Out Of My Boot As I Was Putting It On’… this is Horseflesh from the new E.P. by Raffertie…”
After the mention of big spiders, I knew this was going to be good…
RAFFERTIE, Birmingham/London, U.K.
On Tour & regular airplays on Radio One, club residency
Rank Functions (Clip)
A brief teaser intro from the Rank Functions E.P. A mystery vocal and keyboard beats followed by an F1 burn-rubber slide hints at what’s to come.
Goes straight into his Radio 1 airplays, and very impressive too. Like Space-spiders skittering up the walls - did you ever see Matt LeBlanc in Lost In Space?
If ya don’t like spiders, get outta there - otherwise, get suited up and get blasting…
I don’t know why I’ve missed the earlier dimensions - although I’m pretty sure one of them is the bit that exists outside the mathematical doughnut-shaped Universe described in the world’s most efficient quadratic equation…
This could be Planet Ibiza on the radar with a great female vocal sample, as long as it’s not populated by spider-breeding zombie women… er, wait, why does that sound familiar… (Checking my photo album)
Liking the physics analogy - a drum-and-bass warp under the cosmic vocal sample and wind chimes. Still in outer space looking for the future replacement for Planet Earth…
Let’s hope the rations last until then…
Wild Beasts Full Vocal Remix
Quirky vocal monologue into diversifying self-anthropomorphism backed by xylophone and beats. “Don’t Be Fooled By The Moonshine, It’s Tricking…” This particular lycanthropic tendency is all in the mind, folks.
A great job by Raffertie picking out the dark delusional tone in the track’s lyrics and giving it edgy moves.
No You Girls
Classic Ibiza dancefloor-filler stylee opening with a twist, going into a bass warp more suited to massive sub-woofers in the boot of a matt-black Ford Mustang driven by someone you’d be wiser not to hitch a lift with. Watch out for this one, girls… Looks like that might be a hockey mask under the driver’s seat…
“Love To Get To Know You…” indeed…
Stomping Grounds VIP (on MaryAnn Hobbs)
MaryAnn says “Brace Yourself”… Now this would have been a great theme tune for Literary Death Match with the Stephen Hawking-derived intro “Three - two - one… Fight!”
Proper old-skool speed house meets that bass warp again complete with twisted samples. Like the Addams Family on Acid…
Another space-mission here to Planet Ibiza meets a night in the trunk of a blacked-out Mustang with only loudspeakers and a baseball bat for company. If the music doesn’t knock you out cold first, that baseball bat might just save your life - “Bye-Bye!”
…Once that trunk pops the lid, get ready to start running…
Hurry up and add “Horseflesh”, buddy…