John Askew Blog : A Few UK shows As the effects of the green subside and my bravado returns I resume shouting at Sarah Cox on Radio One. Are the BBC really this out of touch? I’m sure Miss Cox is a decent enough human being, but as a presenter of prime time radio all across the UK? Are you fucking kidding me? Her cringe worthy attempts at being witty, cool and relevant make me embarrassed - on her behalf. However, this is not my car and I am not driving – so I have to accept the owner’s privilege to command the wireless. I have little choice therefore but to sit here, stare out at the wet weather and sulk. I bet if Sarah Cox had to describe herself in a singles ad she would use the expression “quirky” or “bit mad”. After another 20 minutes my colleague finally relents to my persistent sour faced pleading and allows me to at least turn the volume down a little. I do so, turning the dial to the left….little bit more….little bit more…….finally it ‘clicks’ into the off position and we are left in silence. “So how’s work”? I say, attempting to change the subject before I’m rumbled. He gives me that look and then flicks the radio back on - this time turning the volume higher than its original level. And she’s back. Mumbling away in an incoherent torrent of what appear to be words - “Ooo, I really loov a bi’ a cake”. Jesus Christ. Is this what its come down to? What do I do? Grab the steering wheel and direct us into that lamppost coming up on the left? Open the passenger side door and take my chances with the traffic? Better not, get my suede shoes wet. I doubt the BBC will be calling me to ask for my evaluation on their current line up but if they do….. Chris Moyles – A proper presenter who understands what constitutes good radio and a pretty decent bloke by all accounts – but there’s no denying his show could do with a spring clean. Scott Mills – Not my cup of tea. He’s too bloody nice. The kind of bloke you’d like your daughter to hook up with. One could argue his fascination with Hasslehoff is a tad odd – even if it is supposed to be tongue in cheek. Oh, and by the way - it was a terrible idea to let Chappers have his own show. I don’t know what Chappers looks like but when I hear him speak I think of the giant from Jack and Beanstalk. Big bubbling dufus. Jo Wiley – Amazing presenter. Amazing person. Always so honest, unassuming and humble. Love her work. Love her. Great supporter of quality new music and a truly talented broadcaster. Gold star for you Wiley – you can wipe the black board for Sir at the end of the lesson. Zane Lowe – Although his style may occasionally annoy the tits out of me you can’t deny the guy’s enthusiasm and extensive musical knowledge which spans so many genres. Lowe has done more for quality music in this country than anyone else on radio since John Peel. He helped drive the final nail into the coffin of the “boy band era” (although the bastards seem to be touring again with a vengeance). Although they can never be compared, Lowe offers a glimmer of hope for the thousands of unsigned bands out there looking for a lucky break that previously relied on the incredibly thorough pioneering skills of Peel. Give Lowe more airtime during the day I say. Tim Westwood – With the world in financial crisis and every newspaper painting endless pictures of doom and gloom it’s important we have someone as hilarious as Tim Westwood on hand when we need a really good laugh. Did you see him at Glastonbury last year? When he did “Pimp my Ride” on one of Michael Evis’s tractors – that was TV gold. How he came up with his ridiculous accent amazes me. The man’s a comic genius. As for these clowns…… Sarah Cox – P45 Vernon Kaye – P45 Bill and Ben (or is it Dick and Dom?) - P45 Edith Bowman – I was going to say P45, but her show is really useful when you find it hard to sleep. Jamie Theakston (ok so he’s on Heart, not BBC but he still needs a P45) In conclusion – just because someone is a reasonably popular children’s TV presenter doesn’t mean they will be any good on radio. Whoever came up with that theory also needs a P45. Finally – bring back Marc and Lard. Nothing before or after has ever come close to this partnership of pure genius. I digress…. I finally escape the torture of listening to ‘you know who’ after exiting the car at Heathrow. I’m here to catch my flight to Newcastle where I am playing tonight for Detox. As I walk into the vast check in area of the new terminal 5 building a voice on the loudspeaker system tells all passengers “….register your details online at www.ba.com and U2 could benefit a host of offers….” I see no reason why Bono and chums should be allowed to be allowed to benefit from my details? Surely they can afford to pay for their own flights? Surely I’m the one who ought to get the bloody offers? Honestly, the nerve of some people. I check in and grab a pot of green tea in the departures lounge before boarding the short flight to Newcastle. In the queue onto the plane I am behind a man who looks like something out of a 70s gay rights rally. Jeans and white t-shirt so tight that his head and neck look like the last ball of toothpaste being squeezed out of the tube. Mirrored aviator shades and a handlebar moustache that droops down from each side of his mouth – like the one sported by Paulie Senior from American Chopper. To top it all he has a pink mobile phone - which he is gassing into. I was almost tempted to try and get a photo for you guys but I’m not sure how the request would have gone down. For the rest of the flight I can’t get “In the Navy” by The Village People out of my head. Thanks mate. At Newcastle I check into the hotel and chill out before the gig. The event is organised by Detox and is at a secret location - which turns out to be the old film studios where they filmed the 80’s music show “The Tube”….or was it “The Word”? One of the two. Can’t remember. The night is absolutely wicked. There’s an amazing set up which is a real pleasure to play on and the promoters are very hospitable and cool. I love every second of my set. Great sound system and crowd - who are really up for it – as they always are in Newcastle. I stay for an hour after playing and hang out with a rowdy bunch of Jordies who are up for the crack. Too many shots of Sambuca later and I eventually slip out the back door and crawl back to the hotel. Wake. Shower. Tea. Check out. Taxi to airport. I must have looked tired on the way home because the stewardess (who’s fake suntan was nothing short of an incredible advertising opportunity for Tango) offered to move me to a row of 3 seats that were all vacant so I could spread out and get an hour’s sleep. I accepted and instantly passed out only to be woken what seemed like seconds later as we began our decent into London Heathrow. You only have to look at Clive Owen’s acting or that utterly revolting gelatine that the ruins the inside of every Pork Pie to know that life is full of disappointments. My next gig, in this little cluster of shows around the UK was just that - a disappointment. It was at The London Club in Dundee – Scotland. I don’t know what it is about this club, but I can say I won’t be going there again. The first time I played here was with Simon Patterson and it was average, then the second time I played there with John O’Callaghan was really shit with hardly anyone there. Tonight marginally better, but it’s still a disappointment. There’s probably only 100 people here in total. It’s a shame because as a venue it’s pretty cool and the promoters and club owners are all really nice. The promoters who picked me up from the airport were so very friendly, organised and professional and the warm up dj Jamie Drummond was super talented and a great guy to hang out with, but I can’t lie to the readers of this blog. I won’t ever do that. What I did enjoy was the banter in the car to and from the airport. That was most enjoyable. I can’t remember everything that was discussed but I do recall us talking about the pros and cons of making snooker a full contact sport. I really hope if those guys keep putting on parties that they have more success in the future – with all the hard work they put in they deserve it. Maybe they should try a different venue that is a slightly closer to home? Next up - Digital Society in Leeds. Tyas, Activa, James from Fresh and I met for drinks and dinner at the Hotel before heading to the club. On arrival the Duderstadt brothers were warming things up nicely in the main room. The night was amazing and the vibe electric as usual. There was a real charged energy in the air that its hard to put into words. I have said this time and time again – DS is the best club night in the UK right now. It’s small, it’s dark and it’s dirty. Yes, yes and yes. There seemed to be a bit of an issue with the sound system on the night – with the top end being almost non existent (high hats and other high pitched sounds not cutting through) But still it was kicking and I loved my set. My recently finished remix of John O’Callaghan’s “Don’t Look Back” sounded tight and the crowd reaction was amazing. There was also a positive roar back during the debut airing of my new single “Bad Apple” which sounded great. After my set the intoxicating lure of the club and heady atmosphere was proving tough to resist - especially with so many mates in attendance and all of them shit faced. I met up with some super cool guys that I met last year at Syndicate and then again at Gods and wish I could have spent more time with them but its my son’s birthday in the morning – so I leave pretty promptly, heading back at the hotel to crash for a few hours before showering and hitting the road for home. Next I’m off to Belfast for a mate’s night I haven’t played before – called Dirty Secret. On the way to the airport a guy in a massive silver Lexus drives right up behind me and starts flashing his lights again and again. His “friendly” way of asking me to move over is a tad intimidating – especially as the inside lane is busy and there’s no immediate room to get out of his way. He continues to flash his lights and also adds a couple of beeps on the horn – and when I say he is driving close – this fucker is sticking to me like a randy shower curtain. Immediately irritated I employ a delicious technique taught to me by my old friend Bill (from “Bill Goes Nuts” on my first album). I put my screen wash on and hold it. There’s about 2 minutes of continual stream before it reaches empty. Works every time. He backs away and I am allowed the space to move out of the fast lane in safety without being harassed. As he passes me we exchange hand gestures – two fingers for him and just the one from me. Job done. In Belfast I meet my old mate Mark, one of his mates and his sister – who has been roped into driving for the afternoon. They take me to the amazing Stormont Hotel – which overlooks the famous Government buildings that I had previously only ever seen on the news. It’s a magnificent building perched on top of the hill with a long driveway leading up to it. Stupidly I forgot my camera – again. The gig is pretty good but it only really starts kicking off at 12.45 and then the club owner decides he wants to shut the club half an hour early at 1am. I offer to give back some of my wages if he lets me play on another 30 mins but he ain’t up for bargaining. How can we live in an age where a club can get away with closing at 1am. Why do we tolerate this? In most countries inn Europe people don’t even go out to diner till 11pm or midnight. It’s a bloody joke. The government talk about problems with binge drinking and yet they shut a fucking nightclub at 1am? Don’t they understand that this will only encourage people to drink twice as frantically – because they’re working to a tight time limit. It’s absurd and we shouldn’t stand for it. Another thing we shouldn’t tolerate is some of the things being passed of as |”art”/ What on earth are you ranting about now John? There is a popular Gallery in London called The Rokeby. They had an exhibition called – “Fusion now! More light, More Power, More People”. The curator JJ Charlesworth described the exhibition as being “what art and society would be like if we thought positively about a world based on more energy, not less”. Ok, that seems reasonable enough – until you learn that the sculptor Roger Hiorns’s contribution to the exhibition is a huge light bulb (that uses lots of power to light it up) covered in his semen. He does this to emphasise its image of joyous waste. That’s right, you read it correctly – this so called artist was paid to have a toss on a light bulb for a high profile exhibition in a London art gallery. It’s debatable what constitutes art - Damien Hirst cutting a shark or cow into several sections is one thing, but paying money to go into a gallery to see a light bulb covered in jizz is another. Extended hand with red card and short sharp blast on the whistle for you Roger Hiorns - you are one sick puppy. You keep bloody side tracking me…. Is there a polite way to eat spaghetti? Surely a man who orders spaghetti from the menu on his first date is either brave or stupid? No, that’s not it. Ah yes, Dublin. After a weekend off to go to Glastonbury (hideously messy) – I fly to Ireland to play The Vaults. On arrival at the airport in Ireland I check my itinerary to see if I was being picked up. The instructions read “please take shuttle bus to hotel which is a few miles away from the airport”. I asked at the information desk where the shuttle bus went from. “There isn’t a shuttle bus sir”. No problem – I’ll grab a taxi instead. At the taxi rank I get ushered towards a car at the front of the queue and jump in the front. “Travel Lodge at The Swords roundabout please” I say. The response is nothing short of shocking. The driver slams his fists into his steering wheel and screams “for fuck’s sake!!” at the top of his voice. His face has turned a bright vivid red. I ask him is there is a problem and he turns to me and blasts “yes there’s a fucking problem”!! with spit literally popping out of his twisted little bulldog of a face like a volcano’s teasing pre-cum jettisons before the full eruption kicks off. To cut a long story short I later found out that Dublin has far too many taxi drivers and they literally have to fight to get any work at all – so here I was dealing with an angry little monster who had been hoping to pick up a 300 Euro fare out into the Irish countryside but instead got me - a 10 euro round the corner local run. To begin with I was pretty taken back and a bit intimidated. I offered to get out of the taxi and walk. “It’s too fucking late now”!! he screamed while slamming his fist twice into the centre of the steering wheel which accidentally sounded his horn – making him more cross. By now I was getting pretty pissed off myself. On reflection, if there really is that much competition in the Taxi business in Dublin surely he should at least try to make the experience of travelling in his car as pleasant as possible in the hope that he might attract some passengers to use him again. As opposed to behaving like a complete and utter arsehole with a view that everyone owes him a living. We get to the hotel. He says “9 euros 50” from the corner of his snarling mouth. I only have a 50 euro note and offer it to him. “I don’t have any fucking change!” he literally barks. I try and keep cool and say I’ll go and get change from reception. He says “leave you bag in the car”. I say “absolutely not” and take my bag with me. The hotel receptionist gives me 5 ten euro notes in exchange for my 50. I walk back to the car and throw ten euros at the beetroot and turn to walk away. The grubby little creature leaps out of his car saying “it’s ten euros 50 now you cunt since you made me wait”! I turn and walk right up to his face till our noses are almost touching. I recite his full name and taxi registration number (which I memorised on the drive from the airport) and ask him if he wants me to include this latest gesture of aggression in the complaint I am about to write to his bosses? If I had put a match to him at that moment he would have rocketed off into the stratosphere. Hi beetroot face was now going into overdrive - a bright red chilli fit to burst – steam billowing out from between the thick black hairs covering the exit holes n each ear. “Now take the ten euros I have given you, get back in your car and go and abuse someone else before I upgrade my complaint to the police”! I say - trying to remain as calm as I can, but in reality shitting myself in the expectancy of an imminent punch up. It’s 50/50 whether he’s going to punch me or otherwise spontaneously combust. In the end he turns on his heels and as he marches back round to the drivers side of the car he kicks a waste paper bin with huge force. I think he thought the bin was made of plastic. It was metal. He tried to hide it, but I saw the pain in his eye. A broken toe or two if we’re lucky? When I walk into the hotel they haven’t got any record of my booking. Oh Jesus, is this turning into one of those days? I call the promoter and explain my situation. He says there is someone at the airport waiting to pick me up. Brilliant – the whole episode with Steptoe and son could have been avoided. The guy from the airport comes and sorts out the hotel and I get a few hours to chill and calm down after my run in with Beetroot face. Later at the club I hang out with Jordan Suckley, Gary Maguire, and Paul Webster. We talk shit over a couple of beers. The gig is ok. Not mind blowing but still not bad. I don’t think much of my set which is at best average. After I’ve played I catch up with Spencer and Bryan Kearney who have come down. The potential for this to turn into a 3 day bender is there lurking. Can’t. I’m a dad now.
Eventually I leave and head back to the hotel in a taxi with a driver who was luckily nothing like Beetroot face but instead a real pleasure to talk to. We discuss my incident earlier on at the airport and he is shocked and embarrassed. He gives me the number I need to call to make a complaint. After that we talk about football and gardening. I don’t know anything about either topic but I pretend I do with enthusiasm. At Dublin Airport I eat half a disgusting fry up that I swear was made yesterday. Congealed, oily eggs with uncooked bacon, tired hash browns that fall apart and dubious looking white and black pudding which both remain untouched on the side of the plate. Nice one. With my stomach crying out for help I bin the food and go to buy something to read on the plane. I scan the magazines for something easy that doesn’t require any brain-power. I usually stay well away from Dance Music press and after a quick leaf through the latest edition of Mixmag I am reminded why. Does anyone actually buy this horseshit any longer? In the end I opt for the latest Viz. Proper literature. Back in England I drive home and have a BBQ with my family before hitting the road again in the early evening – this time bound for Slinky in Bournemouth. On arrival at the club I meet Fabio Stein and my old friend Dav Gomrass who is rocking the decks and setting up the crowd perfectly. The gig is brilliant. I love the sweaty intimate vibe in this place and enjoy my set enormously. It’s banging as fuck in here. Back in the car my ears are ringing like hell after the long weekend of aural abuse. At 5am I fall into bed – totally spent. The following day I have the house to myself and watch the men’s final at Wimbledon. Amazing on the edge of your seat stuff washed down with roughly 20 cups of horribly strong coffee. Next up gigs at the new Escape club in Swansea Ministry of Sound in London and my US tour. Until next time….. Don’t forget to tune in to my radio show - details how are on the radio page at www.djjohnaskew.com Laters JA Ps: after finishing writing this blog I found out that BBC have made substantial changes to their Radio One line up with Jo Wiley and Edith Bowman’s shows being axed. Gutted about Wiley. Celebrating over Bowman. Wondering why Cox wasn’t on the list? Pps: Chris keeps urging me to use my blog a bit more to plug my music. So here goes – buy my new tunes fuckers.
i love his blogs they are a great read. good to see Detox getting a good review and iam gutted for my dear friend Carson, who didnt get his personal mention
Aye, I was trying to get away from him all night but he just wanted to talk to me about my new tracks & fortcoming gigs across the globe. Proper annoying cunt haha!
