The rain falls. On the train, on the city, on Euston, on Runcorn, on Liverpool. I’m up on Coach A (Quiet) to play at Mama Said, the new night at the Magnet, that proper underground dirty little club down Hardman Street. The rain falls. On the Novotel, on the street signs, on the boozers and bars of Wood Street, on the boys’ trainers and the girls’ heels, on the bare legs and shoulders, the micro skirts and polo shirts. It’s a bubbly cauldron of alcoholic punch, a whirlwind of dogs chasing tails. The rain falls. On tattered posters and rushed graffiti, on special constables standing on splashes of sick, on the street corner smokers, on the swishing black cabs. Soon I am safe in the pulpit, in the corner, a tiny crawl-in DJ booth, in the back of the bar at the Magnet, doing the thing, lost in time, lost in music for the slaves to the rhythm. There’s the big girl in DMs with pink hair who can’t stop asking for You’ve Got The Love (after I play it I discover her mother died last week and that was her funeral song). There’s the lady of a certain age who looks the worse for wear, even in the dim light, dancing with every young man who will have her, holding tight but never kissing. There are the usual late night cross-eyed pointers, pupils deep jet black, dripping palms help up for a soggy high five. The earnestly snogging student couple, the girl’s copy of selected English poetry slipping out of her bag as his hand slides down her back. It ends up on the floor, sticky with night club glue. I’m flipping through the CDs, alternately sipping on beer and water, trying to take it somewhere special. And tonight it’s house and disco and a little reggae. Nicolas Jaar, Sister Nancy, Kaspar Bjorke, Sydney Youngblood, Falty DL, Mark E, Roxy Music. Like I think it should be. Like it feels like. Outside, the rain falls. And inside I’m storm-eye happy, blur wind delirious, lost in music.
In this episode – new music from a stack of the big names in experimental electronica, some fine Balearic re-edits and an exclusive from DJ legend Jose Padilla. So thatâs Fourtet, XX, Gold Panda, Synkro, Burial and Robert Palmer. [setlist] The XX – VCR (Fourtet Remix) – Young Turks Gold Panda – Marriage – Notown Velour – Booty Slammer – Night Slugs Falty DL – Filthy Divinity – Planet Mu The Glimmers – Nehru Park – Gomma Jose Padilla & Kirsty Keatch – Dragonflies (Cantoma Remix) – digital file Lewis B – Dark Clouds (Synkro Remix) – Smokin Sessions Solar Bears – Forest Of Fountains – Planet MU Commix – Be True (Burial Remix) – Metalheadz Belbury Poly and Mordant Music – Study Series 03 Welcome to Godalming Inn Ohm The Lake – Ghost Box Robert Palmer – Every Kinda People (Musica Hermosa Balearic Rework) – digital file Cole Medina – Whatâs Going On – digital file Trickski – Pill Collins – Suol Germany
[description]Co-compiled by Chris Coco – the sound of now, deep and Balearic sounds. Download features a DJ mix from Coco.[/description] [buy]http://www.junodownload.com/products/chilled-deep-dubstep-26-chilled-dub-step-big-tunes-unmixed-tracks/1631779-02/?highlight=DEEP%20CHILLED%20DUBSTEP[/buy] [image]https://chriscoco.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/10/deep-dubstep-cover.jpeg[/image] [listen]http://soundcloud.com/chris-coco/balearic-dubstep[/listen]
I am ten floors up in new Nu-London, surveying the city from Bromley-by-Bow to Canary Wharf. From here you can see the edge, a dream of hills and leafy lanes. Directly below, estate trade theatre, cop cars and alleyways, young mums and boys on the corners. Up here we are playing with club sounds, Breese and me, keeping it simple, trying to be edgy, clutching cups of tea and juggling giant cookies and plug-ins. Bass comes on. Bass goes off. Bass comes on. Bass goes off. I am one floor up in the newly pimped Roundhouse, surveying the scene from stage to side door. From here you can see the diners, a whirl of linen, plated chops and swirling glasses. Directly below, the pit, next gen fever, wes and the crew and a swarm of hormones, learning the ropes. Up here we’re trying to fathom, H&N and me, why awards shows are always the same, why telly always feels so fake, why Melodica didn’t win the Best Radio Show or Podcast award. Band comes on. Band goes off. Band comes on. Band goes off. I am one floor down in deepest Soho, playing love songs from Junior Murvin to Marvin Gaye. From here you can see the suits. A drunken dream of a life lived better. Directly below, the CDJs, the mixer, familiar territory, night’s landscape. Up here we’re playing music, Chris and me, keeping it simple, trying to be cool in my She One t-shirt and APCs. Tune comes on. Tune goes off. Tune comes on. Tune goes off. I am one floor up on night bus 19, surveying the city from Piccadilly to Park Lane. From here you can see the sky, a dream of shooting stars and planes. Directly below, the action spills out of Anon And On, into the street, smokers in strapless this and strappy that. Up here, I’m keeping it locked, bag on seat, cash in pocket till it’s my stop, strangely unmoved by the day’s developments. And below the bridge, down on the river. Tide comes in. Tide goes out. Tide comes in. Tide goes out.
You can now find Melodica every week on the excellent r.fm website, home of very cool music art and videos.