I'd just made myself a brown sauce sandwich on brown bread. Two mouthfuls in I smiled, placed the sandwich down on my favourite brown plate and typed in my Twitter username and password into the relevant fields.


One or two controversial/predictable Tweets from Doug Stanhope about that young chap in America who terminated them young women for not getting off with him. Everyone from Mixmag hyping one another up MASSIVELY and showing off. My dear friends at Defected enjoying themselves in Ibiza. Me being nice and promoting others over my own. Everyone from Mixmag having a lovely time in Ibiza and showing off about it. Ran$om Note notes about brilliant things I've never heard of and beautifully written articles. A picture of Ania and Shabs from Channel 4 Drugs Live exploring a Brixton nightclub without me that made me feel sad. Attack Magazine posting seven page articles about drum machines. More pictures of my chums at Defected partying all night long in Ibiza without me. Announcements from junior Mixmag staff about their impending arrival in Paris for a dance festival I'd not been invited to, let alone heard of. Pittsburgh Track Authority in Detroit. De-fucking-De-fucking-troit without me.

I forced the rest of my brown sauce sandwich into my mouth and went cross-eyed with rage. Gagging on a brown sauce sandwich and violently shaking my shoulders, I put my fist through the black Samsung laptop that sat there laughing at me, smashing a hole through the display screen just wide enough for me to put my other fist through. After that, I spat on the keyboard, head-butted the Backspace key and then head-butted the F, U, C, K, O, F and F keys before screaming like a dog klaxon at the mirror on my ceiling, shattering it on purpose and using the shards of glass to scratch at the remains of the laptop display screen. I did not want to see any more holiday photos of people at Mixmag and Defected. I did not want to read any more pretentious ramblings from Andrew Fucking Ryce, that bloke who used to do Minimal Messages and Todd L Burns. I did not want to see Viz scanning the entire contents of their current edition after I'd already bought it. I did not want to see. You know? Do you? Do ya?

Every drop of bile in my body came out of my eyes as I folded myself up onto my brown kitchen floor and cried, desperately trying to swallow the crusts of my brown sauce sandwich with shattered glass, bits of laptop and bitter memories surrounding my sorry, sat down body.

Even for a shop, I thought enviously to myself, that Defected shop on Brick Lane was fucking commercial. Still, I got loads of free Red Stripe out of it and it was a chance to catch up with my great pals at the label. That thought cheered me up no end so I went to the shops in Northolt, bought myself a brand new black Samsung laptop and Tweeted about it.

I'm writing this post with a cup of tea in one hand, a Tesco split pot strawberry yoghurt in the other, Black Mahogani on the stereo and a pair of dotty socks on my feet. Does life get any better?

What a return to form that post was, eh? Be sure to come back next week for either MASSIVE QUESTIONS with ANNE SAVAGE, an exciting announcement, the second Monthly Review of Dance Music podcast or MASSIVE QUESTIONS with SOUL CLAP. I'm not sure which one of those it'll be yet so please bear with me. Thank you.

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The Weekly Review of Dance Music is world famous for reviewing dance music on a weekly basis. This week's Weekly Review of Dance Music is no different because I'm sat here in my Northolt HQ at the kitchen table listening to a hastily air-mailed Pittsburgh Track Authority 12" dub plate here, checking out a tape from Mosca that he had couriered to me by motorcycle there and watching a super, uber, crazy and hella cool music video by Richard Fearless on my brand new 128" plasma screen above the sink, whilst the kettle rattles away in the background and half a dozen Tonkettes prepare my bubble bath.

I love being the managing director of a hugely successful, award winning blog.

Mosca is a moody-looking fucker who stands around in the dark being photographed in sportswear AND knitwear, and that's why I like him. He also makes tunes that sound great in dark basements and warehouses when you're wearing tracky tops and, if you're into sweating, knitwear. No Splice No Playback is the first release by Mosca on the new label he's started, Not So Much. I don't know why he's called his label what he called it or why he called the first release what he called it, all I know is that the two tracks on No Splice No Playback are fucking brilliant.

The word 'suckle' makes you think of lickle babies drinking milk out of their mommy's boobies doesn't it? It does though, doesn't it? It just does. Not for much longer; listen to Suckle by Mosca and you'll forever associate the word with six and a bit minutes of dark and sexy techno that could easily sit in the background of an attic level in Resident Advisor 3: Nemesis on the Playstation 2, in a good way.

Vinny made me step away from my ironing board to close my eyes and wonder if I was actually stood in a Shepherds Bush basement, gently wading from side to side, surrounded by strangers, ketted up, pilled up, poppered up and quietly gurning to myself. A warm Italian hand running slowly up the nape of my neck, holding it there before making circles on the back of my head as I lose myself further to a relentless, oft-bleeped rhythm.

- Where are my friends?
- Sono andati a casa per ascoltare un CD Mixmag. E 'ok, tu sei con me adesso, buster. Questo รจ tutto.

Mosca - No Splice No Playback: 9/10
Released: 2 June 2014 on Not So Much

Have Pittsburgh Track Authority ever done anything shit? No. Their back catalogue reads like a brochure of things that aren't shit. Enter The Machine Age, the first full-length album by the all-American, bearded and baseball capped trio, is not about to blot the copy book of their back catalogue OR brochure because it's fucking brilliant. I've listened to this album about nine times now and it still strikes me how rich and spacey it all sounds as a whole. BPM-wise, it runs the gamut. Genta is 130BPM, Give Me A Chance is 120BPM, Broader Disco is 120BPM, It's Over is 125BPM, Visions Of Serengeti is 120BPM, Cutthroat is 128BPM, Naked Triple is 123BPM and at 113BPM, Debonair is the slowest song on the album.

Would I recommend buying Enter The Machine Age when it comes out in the shops this month? Does a bear shit in the woods and wipe his arsehole with a fluffy white rabbit?

Pittsburgh Track Authority - Enter The Machine Age: 9/10
Released: May 2014

Richard Fearless out of Death in Las Vegas has made a video for his new dance song, Higher Electronic States. Look:

Fuck me, have you ever seen a better dance music video than this? Don't answer that. Let me. No, you haven't. It's properly fucking impressive, isn't it? Don't answer that. Let me. Yes, it is.

Fans and long-time readers of WRDM will be surprised that I like this high-conceptual based abstract photography inspired piece of art because I've always BANGED on about how my favourite dance music videos portray the producer of the song showing off abroad like in:


...but Richard Fearless has made a video that, in my opinion, can stand eye-to-eye, toe-to-toe and cock-to-cock with David Morales and Tall Paul in any dance music video gentlemen's urinal room. I'll go as far as to say that Higher Electronic States the song is great, and the video is excellent, but when you put them both together it's fucking brilliant.

Richard Fearless - Higher Electronic States: 9/10
Released: 26 May 2014 on Drone

What a BOSTIN' bunch of things I've reviewed this week, eh? None of them scored less than 9/10!!! Please boost my moral and raise awareness for the above artists by retweeting, sharing and posting this week's WRDM all around the internet like letters in a cartoon village.

I'll definitely be back next Tuesday with: MASSIVE QUESTIONS with ANNE SAVAGE. Definitely.

FOLLOW ME: @tonkawrdm
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