Vote Obama By Tisa

I saw this n thought it was jokes, although slightly annoying...made me think more about when the fuk r we the krak muzik team gonna make a random video like this...we got enuff talent to take ova the world..... ^_^

Q Bert Scratching over Dilla

now i don't normally get too bovered about scratching (mainly because i cant do it), but this is different. It is over a Dilla beat.

DJ Cable's Weekly Mix (Download)

Week #32 is here!

This week, I decided to throw a bunch of genres in the mix, add another blend, the new Wiley joint, and generally have a little bit of a mashup. The end result was this:

DOWNLOAD

Tracklisting:

01. Wiley - Summertime
02. Justin Timberlake - My Love
03. Tag Team - Whoomp! (There It Is) (DJ Cable Blend)
04. Robin S - Show Me Love (Stonebridge Club Mix)
05. Armand Van Helden Feat. Fat Joe & BL - Touch Your Toes
06. Simian Mobile Disco - Hustler
07. Justice Vs. Simian - We Are Your Friends
08. Boys Noize - Oh! (Original Mix)

Got any thoughts? Let me know!

P.S. Be sure to support me and the rest of Bionic Stylus at the DMC World Finals on 26h September! For more info, check out the DMC Website, or watch this space.

Thee Secret Jardin-2008

It appears to be amazingly hard to re adjust my mind whilst it slips into a shrivelling rabbit hole; maybe it’s going to take a few more days for me to vacate this cocoon of insanity. Whilst I did not trip due to undisclosed substances my senses were put through a physcadelic montage of obscure characters, costumes and interactive art installations. It really is an immense sight to view somebody spending 30mins passionately picking up there arms and placing each limb inside a truck tyre to then be pushed down a hill with an algae mutated lake being the final destination. My own kicks certainly come much easier. Accurately titled ‘Suicide Races’, people had spent time, previous to this, making disastrous vehicles to partially carry them down the race course whilst a collection of nurses who resembled a mix between the clangalers and M.I.A, were on hand to pump water into the contenders so that they ‘ did not die’. Hugely entertaining, after an hour of ooooING and aaahING as if I were at a guy fawkes display I did in fact realise that my presence there was doing nothing more than aid my confusion and proceeded toward the bar. I lost track of the ‘main’ bar and ended up head in hand at an eco worshiping all man encompassing organic natural produce bar. What the... well I ended up being persuaded to have a shot of liquidised tree bark which apparently would ‘keep me buzzing for hours’ after a laugh and a sarcastic conversation I did one of their famous shots and left with the after taste of a sexual product of a goat mixed with sand.



Nothing like any other festival I have ever been too, during my hippy-esk upbringing I was a resident of Womad most years, and I can safely say that this is a finer mutation. Glastonbury is yet to be purveyed but the intimacy of Secret Garden is certainly a huge bonus to its perfectly obscure vibe and isolated brilliance. With a population of 5,000 slightly of-centred beings I felt right at home after ‘misplacing’ my friends. I found myself waking up in a haystack and calmly strolling down to the ‘Valley of the Antic’ stage, pitching up my rag and having the emotionally vibrating lyrics and voice of Peggy Sue and Pirates sooth my beaten body. Probably the only set of the entire 4 days I saw, where the whole audience were lying down as supposed to power testing every ligament in an energy fuelled dance off, with the goal of realising ‘does my body still work today?’

Still without the group I arrived with I made friends with a few zebras and undertook a mission from the ‘Ministry of Correspondence’ whereby I had to pin clothing pegs on unsuspecting members of the public, I won some fake money and continued to wander, befriended dead male brides and such. From the hours of 6pm-1am I found my new religion. Dubstep. I spotted my friends dancing in a circle near to centre stage with dedicated looks of bliss and vacant eyes I could see the music enhancing them as I had felt through every minute. What really made me truly realise that this festival was heaven was that I did not feel compelled to run up in despair, clutch them and scream ‘where have you been!!’ I just danced over through the crowd, put my hands in the air and brought them down to the electronic beats, cracked a smile and continued to enjoy myself in their presence.


The attention to detail and landscaping was really truly enchanting. Banana bundles were placed in the tree tops, every square metre of the garden was adorned in mind arousing lighting. I think I literally floated around this festival, my mind seemed constantly lifted and my soul free from all restraints.


Returning to good ole Londinium minus two shoes and with plus four 4 dreadlocks I think I digested all that this festival had to offer, and if there’s still more then maybe you can browse the photos and spot the man dressed as a snail from mars cross bread with a pirate on acid that I did not spot.

Good Job Mum and Dad for my naming me fairy.

Carnival

Carnival Sunday took it easy.....


rampage...its BASHY!


OK then there was Carnival MONDAY with THE DRAGONS!

The Theme was the Mask of the red Death



Shout out to Auntie Di!









Umm...the chick in green is suppose to be security....










THE BEST WAY TO ENJOY CARNIVAL IS TO BE A PART OF IT.

How Do I fix this?

Had a blast at Carnival I think the only way to have real fun is in Costume!


Someone-anyone-how do I upright my video?

Who's coming with me?

ABSOLUTELY LOVE THIS DUDES STUFF!



http://tmagicworld.com/

Blink and you'll miss her!

I know this song is old but they have only just put out a video.



The Chick in the light blue dress and heavy fringe is my Wonderful lil sister. I love her so I'm hyping her!She is a fantastic Stylist,Dancer and Model.

www.myspace.com/meeshalewis

Techno Ravin in Berlin

So those that no me would never in a million years belive i went to a techno rave!... but hey, when in Rome eh?.. This place was nuts. It kinda looks like its in the woods and the actual dancefloor is located in the woods. Apparently this party is like the pride of the city.... basically, there were lots of drugs, lots of music that goes "Duv, Duv, Duv!"... and lots of people that looked like this guy....


Bless him!.... i cant lie though, it was fun. I learned loads of new dance moves, the trick is to pretend ur listening to old school garage and then u can kind of move in some sort of soulfull movements to the random kicks and blips!...


The happy couple were once again in attendance and Emily decided it was a special enough occasion to pull out her cartoon cigar!


This was the back room... WOW!... they were playing songs like Kylies, "Locomotion" and some kind of other weird german folk music. I saw dudes doing some sort of strange line dancing and they were wearing those old school Football shorts that Ian Rush used to play in... strange. I left quickly.


Somehow i ended the night on a horse...??... i dont know either but at least i got to share my horse riding experience with the lovely Sarah.


As did the wooly jumper crew...

My conclusion. Raving to Techno in Berlin is fun... but strange. People are at least friendly and i stepped on at least ten peoples trainers and didnt once feel like anyone might shoot me so i guess thats a nice change from going out in London!... till next time people!.... Peace!

fumbling bumbling tumbling stumbling grumbling humbling mumbling

Weather-wise, the summer of 2008 has been a bit lacklustre, to say the least. But only boring bastards talk about the weather, eh. I'm going to talk to you about the culmination of what has proven to be, without a doubt, the Summer of Motherfuckery.

Reading Festival 2008

I knew that this year's festival was going to be something of a test. Firstly, I had no ticket. Therefore I had to rely on getting there on Wednesday to be in with a chance of buying one on the door. Secondly, my bank card was in two pieces, a measure I had taken the previous week to ensure that I didn't spend any money before the festival. A foolish measure at that. Luckily, a replacement came in the post on Tuesday morning.
I had arranged to go to friend's house on Tuesday evening and be driven to Reading in the morning. That night, the song rape began.

We awoke on Wednesday morning, and loaded our belongings into the absolute beast of a machine that had been borrowed to ferry us on our journey. Thank you very much. It made the experience survivable, and what better way to roll up than in an Emo Knackerwaggon. Then it was giddy up and onwards to the 24-hour Wonderland that is Tesco in Slough.


We stocked up on the essentials; that is Cider, Tobacco and the necessaries to create a Vodka Martini. Then it was back into the tank, and Reading bound. It was a pleasant journey, the comfort in the tank was exquisite, and the alcohol was flowing. A copy of Roger's Profanisaurus was found, and I was once again violated by the very same song-rapist I had encountered the night before. Not before I saw where a certain someone really makes his money... that DJing thing? Its all a front. Sweeny Todd, the Demon Barber of Brixton...


We arrived in Reading, well oiled and quite unprepared for the situation that awaited us. It seemed that we were not the only bright sparks who had turned up early with the intention of buying a ticket on the door. There were literally thousands of motherfuckers queuing up for entry. Well, I say queuing. It was more a case of them milling around aimlessly. So we did the sensible thing and pushed in as far as we could, which, in hindsight, was a genius idea because I still ended up waiting for the best part of 7 hours in a hellish mass of bodies. I had my mp3 player stolen from my pocket, and received a clip around the ear from a cheeky unseen assailant. At the end of this ordeal, only two of us remained. Tired, bruised, but with tickets in hand, we sat down on the grass for some well earned r&r while we tried to establish the whereabouts of the others.



We eventually regrouped, and made our way to the campsite to meet some of the others who had managed to gain entry earlier. After being sent from pillar to post by the rather inept stewards, we finally managed to pitch the Snatch in complete darkness. This was the first Reading Festival I had been to that was not sponsored by Carling. Fair enough, their beer tastes like tepid piss; I wouldn't drink that Beer Cordial for payment nor favour, but I'll tell you one thing: those bastards know how to organise a festival. Festival Republic can kiss me where I poo, with their over-complicated entrance system. After 7 hours in a manic stampede, the last thing I wanted to do was have to walk the best part of a mile to a different entrance, fully laden with my bags. But I did because I had to. So, with the Snatch pitched (and looking like some kind of 70's bohemian love shack), the party started and I drank myself to near oblivion and fell asleep with a full can of Cider in my hand.


I awoke, rather soggy, on Thursday morning (with an empty can of Cider in my hand) to the news that one of our party had risen with excruciating pain in his lower back. Myself and a companion hot-footed it to the First Aid tent where we sought help for our stricken comrade. Shitty circumstances, but we did get a ride back to the campsite in an ambulance, and we got to see the back stage area and everything. So it wasn't all bad. For us anyway, our friend with the back pain was rushed to hospital on a morphine drip, and diagnosed as having 3 kidney stones lodged in his innards. After passing one stone, a night on the ward, and a rectal examination by a hot female doctor, he was back on the campsite the next day with a fist full of medication and a look of sheer pride on his face. What a trooper. In his honour, the drinking continued (as did the song rape).

Friday morning came and I felt as sick as a dog. The previous night's festivities had knocked me for six and it took a cup of salvation army soup, a slice of watermelon and a bag of doughnuts before I felt even vaguely human. Today was the first day of music, but I don't really remember seeing any bands. I had forgotten that I was at a music festival, so intent had I been on getting Motherfucked. I wasn't really too concerned though because Sunday was the day for me. Friday and Saturday's line up didn't really have too many acts that I wanted to see, which left me with more time to get messy and cause mischief. I had thoughtfully packed a smoke bomb and a roll of gaffer tape, all I needed now were some recipients of my Motherfuckery. I had to play the waiting game...

I didn't have to wait long, there were chumps everywhere crying out to be Motherfucked. The chap on the right was affectionately nicknamed "The Tumbler", on account of him tumbling through our campsite in a ginger, drunken whirlwind. As he lay on the floor, a sodden mess, he wailed that all he wanted was to make friends. We were feeling less than friendly so we escorted him to another campsite where he was promptly gaffer taped to a chair. The chap on the left tried to cut him free with a pen knife, at which point The Tumbler seized the knife and proceeded to stab his rescuer through the hand. Theres gratitude for you, eh. (This picture was taken pre-knife crime). And still, the song rapist was busy aurally abusing anyone within earshot.


By the time Sunday came around, I was a shell of a man. The constant song rape had rendered my hearing untrustworthy, anything even slightly musical took the form of that ghastly song. However, victim or not, I was looking forward to a sterling line up in the dance tent. Chromeo, in particular. And they didn't let me down. We danced until the music stopped, and went in search of some final night Motherfuckery.


Emos were fished for with a makeshift fishing rod, and indeed one was snared by the line wrapping itself around his willy. Serves him right for expressing his freedom by running around stark bollock naked. Reading Festival does seem to attract idiotic fooligans who feel the need to free themselves, yet their only method of achieving this is to draw all over each other's bodies and offer free hugs to all and sundry. Another popular activity seemed to be upturning the huge oil drums that served as bins and getting all tribal on them, beasting them like primitive drums. One troupe of wannabe Stompers particularly offended me, so I decided to smoke bomb them. There was a slight breeze that night, so the smoke dispersed quite quickly, but it was worth it to see the look on their faces as they saw me brandish the stick, fuse alight, thinking I was about to dynamite them. Groups of people were gaffer taped together, someone got a can of Cider thrown in his face, I got cans of Cider thrown down my throat and I passed out after having some eye drops applied to my dry and tired eyes. They made them worse.


Monday morning came and we were faced with the daunting task of de-camping and returning to the real world. It took some will power, but eventually we were back on the road. I felt as though I had left an important part of myself behind, I couldn't quite place it though. However, at least the song rape had stopped.

Reduced to a mumbling wreck, unable to construct a coherent sentence, I got back to Windsor, left my bag at a friend's place, and wandered into town to mingle with real people and relearn normality. I bought a huge burger from the Gourmet Burger Kitchen and went to sit by the Thames to watch the geese, eat, and evaluate what I had learnt over the last few days.

It had been fun. Or at least I assume it had been fun. I wasn't quite sure. I had laughed a lot, that much is true. But as I sat there, I suddenly became aware that I was both physically, and mentally, in pain. I hadn't slept properly for 7 days, I had been forced to listen to the same poxy song constantly for the best part of a week, and my liver was whimpering like a ginger orphan on his first day in the workhouse. I had promised myself that Reading was going to be my swan song. I owe it to myself to honour that promise. Therefore the Motherfuckery stops here. I've got things that I need to do, and I can't afford to let Motherfuckery hinder me any more than it already has.

For now, at least, I'm taking a vow of Mothercelibacy.

And you know what you can do with that fucking Hot Dog




Song Raped by Mickey Mouse