WRDMerchandise 2015

This Credit Crunch is still munching on my bank account, lads. Look, I'm having to flog shit like this to keep my head above water. I'm not making ANY money from writing so I reckon hawking dance music related merchandise every few months is as good an idea as any...

...at least until my live show gets rolling. Buy one of each of everything to help keep WRDMHQ brewing with content for another month.

Official WRDM Bootleg Top Shop Rihanna T-Shirt

Top Shop might have bottled it and pulled these from their shelves, but I'm not. Whether you're an unimaginatively dressed young lady, a lady in her thirties who dresses like a twenty one year old or a thin, gay man who's convinced that he's fashionably adventurous, you'll LOVE wearing this 'EXCLUSIVE to WRDM' white vest with Rihanna's face on the front.

Dennis Edwards: Official 'No Beef' Beef in partnership with WRDM and Alex James

Whenever anyone hears the song, Don't Look Any Further, thoughts turn to Tupac making his own bed by rapping about how he's going to murder the entire East Coast rapping fraternity in the popular gangsta rap song, Hit 'Em Up. Apart from the prominent sample of his popular hit song, Dennis had fuck all to do with the mid-90s coast war that cost the lives of two of raps rhyming royalty, so it's about time we remember Dennis Edwards in a less hostile way.

Dennis Edwards fan, Alex James out of Blur, has provided WRDMHQ with a set of keys to the abattoir on his farm in Oxfordshire and six months access to all of the animals that produce the meat, beef, so that we can generate enough stock to pay tribute to Dennis in the way that we have chosen to do so on this week's Weekly Review of Dance Music post, WRDMerchandise 2015.

Online shop with WRDM. Get your Dennis Edwards: Official 'No Beef' Beef in partnership with WRDM and Alex James only three for a pound. Three for a pound, ladies and gentlemen. Three for a pound.

Bermuda Mansion. The Official WRDM Branded Cigarettes

Our so-called ConDem Coalition government may be on the verge of bottling out of calling our Great British fags things like MayfairEmbassyPall Mall and Diplomat, and getting rid of the fancy fonts and pictures, but I'm not.

Don't buy boring fags, smoke Bermuda Mansion, and make your school mates jealous, envious and green with envy.

I don't even smoke, and I smoke Bermuda Mansion!

Glow In The Dark Children's Bedroom Stephanie Sykes WRDM Wall Stickers

Name to watch in 2015, Stephanie Sykes, may very well be a friend of a friend in the dance music industry, but that's definitely NOT the reason I've peppered her name all over various online publications since seeing her breathtaking warm up at Atomic Jam last year. I met her that night, too, right after she finished her job. After barging my way backstage to the DJ booth and greeting Stephanie with a combined handshake and European double face kiss, I kept things brief and formal:

"Stephanie. With my help, your marketability next year could potentially rise upwards of four thousand percent by the third quarter. After a couple of successful Atomic Jam slots under your belt, a Fabric gig should be in your sights before May and, again, by sticking with me, kid, I should expect you to see a slot at Panorama and Berghain by December 2015 latest. After that, you're looking at a Resident Advisor podcast and, naturally, plenty more European work and festivals after that. In 2016, you'll be a global name and the face of Atomic Jam in Birmingham like Erol was the face of Bugged Out! for most Londoners ten years ago. You'll be the headline attraction, love. All I need for you to do is sign away your image rights to me and I'll get to work on getting you out there. I'm Tonka. Do you have any idea how many people read the Weekly Review of Dance Music? Do you have any idea how many Facebook Likes Ran$om Note has? Sign this fucking form. Sign it now. Sign it."

I'm very pleased to announce that Stephanie signed my form there and then, like when Chris Evans bought Virgin Radio off of Richard Branson on a plane by writing a note on the back of an envelope.

Glow In The Dark Children's Bedroom Stephanie Sykes Wall Stickers will make your favourite child's heart glow...with pride.

Paul Oakenfold Official WRDM Baseball Bat and Machete Home Security Set

Protect YOUR family from burglary with the Paul Oakenfold Official WRDM Baseball Bat and Machete Home Security Set.

Imagine the relief you'll feel when you hear the smash of your kitchen window...and you reach down under your side of the bed to grip the leather effect handle of the baseball bat. Imagine the quiet chortle and the wink you'll be able to exchange with your other half as he or she or it slowly pulls out the machete from under their pillow as you hear your unwitting assailant creep up YOUR stairs. Imagine the look of surprise and panic on the burglar's face as you greet him (and it will be a him) with a silent, robotic barrage of blows to his head and body as soon as he enters YOUR bedroom. Imagine the positive headlines in the following days local paper, hailing you as a have-a-go hero. Imagine the lifetime of pain, the facial disfigurement and the depression you'll cause the burglar, the distress the episode has on his family and the enjoyment you'll reach from knowing that you'll not be burgled by him ever again.

The Paul Oakenfold Official WRDM Baseball Bat and Machete Home Security Set is the ONLY way to protect your home, your family and your dignity.

- Why is Paul Oakenfold involved, Tonka?

- I don't know.

If you buy three sets, I'll throw in a bonus Dave Clarke 15" Rambo Knife.

Fucking hell. All prices are negotiable on your financial situation, but if anyone even places one order for any of that shit I'll be more surprised than something that's always really surprised. Know what I mean?

I'll be back next week with more free content, content, MASSIVE QUESTIONS with ANNE SAVAGE, content and content.

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Hilarious Lookalikes 2015

Fucking hell, you can tell that I'm struggling for original material because I'm wheeling out some Hilarious Lookalikes already, and WRDM is only two posts in this year! Luckily for you that when it comes to delivering Hilarious Lookalikes on the internet, I'm the master.

So, sit back, relax, strap your sides together and LOOK at the fucking state of THESE:

No, I can't do any Hilarious Lookalikes today. Sorry. I've just been on Resident Advisor to look for DJs to Google Image and nothing is standing out. RL Grime doesn't look like anyone, DJ Rolando doesn't look like anyone, Maya Jane Coles doesn't look like anyone and neither does Truss. Maria New Yen might be the best looking DJ I've seen in ages, but she doesn't look like anyone. Upside down smiley face. It might be a short one this week, lads, so I can't see Resident Advisor sticking this on the Feed, unfortunately.

One day, I was talking to someone at Resident Advisor. I'd just finished discussing the future of music journalism with Dan BeaumontThunder Miles, Ian McQuaid, Naomi 'Daft Punk UK PR' Williams and the Godfather of UK house and acid, Terry Francis, I mean Farley; Terry Farley in front of a live studio audience at the London Electronic Music Event 2014 (LEME) and I was on one of those post-gig highs, know what I mean? All the saddos networked around me as I nonchalantly sat on the edge of the stage in my own silent, reflective solitude, glugging on Glens vodka in a plastic Volvic water bottle as my legs and feet wobbled and bobbled beneath me (I was secretly drinking vodka because it helps with the nerves and stage-fright - I learned that from Oliver Reed).

A strong, tall and handsome young man called NAME OBSCURED OUT OF KINDNESS BY ME bravely approached me and said that he was a fan of the Weekly Review of Dance Music and Tonka's Week on Ran$om Note. I said, "thanks, mate. What's your name?" He said, "NAME OBSCURED OUT OF KINDNESS BY ME and I write reviews on Resident Advisor." The plucky upstart then told me that if I change my style of writing slightly and assume a different pseudonym, I'd probably be able to get paid for reviewing songs on RA. At the time, I said something like, "thanks, but fuck off. My name is Tonka, I am Tonka, I will always be Tonka" before fucking off myself...to do some networking, brown-nosing and palm-pressing of my own.

October 2014. A few months had passed, the summer had ended and the rush of pretending to be a music journalist on stage with some proper people in the music industry fell away suddenly like when you stop being high at about 11.15am on a Sunday morning after you've been sniffing crushed-up ecstasy E tablets up your nostrils since the club shut it's doors and you're sat on the cold laminate floor of your living room wishing that your mates would fuck off home and leave you alone so that you can try and wank over the mucky magazines you've got stashed in your wardrobe before attempting to sleep and you end up on your little single bed in the box room until gone 5pm annihilating the rubbery semi-hard worm in your hand whilst imagining that it's YOU in the pages getting your face sat on and your make-believe twelve inch sledge-hammer of a cock battered by the two blonde bisexual lesbian cheerleaders and the only way you can end up cumming is by ramming a ripe banana up your ring piece and thinking back to the only time you've actually had sex for real three years previously with a real person for real in reality instead of the majority of the time you spend cooped up in your day dream world of fantasy fucks and pretend orgies with super models and colleagues and neighbours and lady DJs and soap stars and friends and non-blood related relatives and when you finally release that tear drop of spunk from the tip of your red raw bell end you breathe a sorry sigh of relief and fall backwards on to the mattress and snooze until you have to get up for work on Monday morning promising that pale-faced, dead-eyed twat in the mirror that you'll never get that fucked up before the start of a new term again, but you know you've already got your tickets booked for Sonar, Farr, Bestival, a couple of Electric Minds, Bloc and the next few Bugged Outs. I soon came to realise that I'm not a proper music journalist, I'm a fucking blogger who writes TRUTH about his (my) life and some of the best music reviews this side of the Grand Canyon, plus some cracking interviews.

Can you imagine me writing long and intellectual articles about DJs and artists you've never heard of or probably won't remember in six months time like Philip Sherburne does or trying to make out like the upcoming Carl Cox / Mixmag CD is anything other than a balls-up in Mixmag's programming department?

Fucking hell. I bet this was Chubby Funster's fault. LOLoutLOUD. They're making you pay for a magazine with a CD on the cover that, unless I've got the wrong end of the stick here, was given away on a copy of Mixmag eight fucking years ago and making out like they're pushing it for reasons of nostalgia, rather than the MASSIVE main course drop by one of the should-soon-be-sacked Storm Troopers that it is. They need someone like me on board, I reckon. Mixmag, I know that at least one of you reads the world famous Weekly Review of Dance Music, so get in touch and I'll do a few articles for you. For money.

I forgot what the point of this week's post is now. Oh yeah, someone said that I could write some reviews on Resident Advisor if I changed my name and style of writing. What I should have said then was, "if you really want someone with a different name and a different style of writing to mine to write reviews on your website, why don't you go and trawl the internet for the thousands of Hilarious Lookalike dance music websites and blogs and pick some fucker at random", but I always think of great responses like that six months after I should have said them. There are fucking LOADS of them, I should have probably continued, saying the same things in the same style and it's all as boring as this post is now getting to me. Most of them have exactly the same content (written by the same PR people) and the droids who put their names to a lot of these sites are the same desperate wankers you bump into at the various press launch events that promise LOADS but never, ever deliver or are as important to real people as they are to the people paid to promote them, like Google's night club history mapping thing with Danny Rampling a couple of years ago. Remember that? I remember the press launch because it had free drinks and hamburgers, but I don't ever remember seeing any Google+ nightclub stuff being shared on any of my timelines.

I shouldn't knock people for having ideas and trying new things though.

I'll be back next Tuesday with lots, loads and an enormous amount of brand new content.

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Fuck me, why do I do this? Here's the Carl Cox 'retro' stream:


WHOOOOOOOSH...back from the dead like Nick Cotton. Comin' at ya harder than Eminem trying to park a Dodge in a two-car garage with the windows up to the mid-eighties. Yes, it's the Weekly Review of Dance Music: version Future proofed for generations to come.

But I don't know how...

...hey everybody, it's me, Tonka, glad to be back in the New Year with your super soaraway WRDM, and I'm here today to wish you a very happy 2015 because I'm YOUR friend and you've got a friend in ME. For life.

Here's some reviews to ease us all back into what is now the middle of January.

D'Angelo And The Vanguard - The Black Messiah

If there's been a more hyped album than The Black Messiah recently then I can't remember what it...hang on a minute, Syro was exactly the same. The Black Messiah is the latest "instant classic" album to pop up on my social media timelines in the last month. I couldn't bring myself to listen to it in December because all of the people I follow on Twitter were wanking over it - I didn't want to interrupt. I bought it off of Kick Ass Torrents last week for nothing pence and listened to the whole album on a long walk around Northolt. I started off on Carr Road and meandered along the dog shit strewn Fairway towards the hustle and bustle of Oldfield Circus. A new kebab shop has opened. Not sure how they'll compete with the established and friendly Turkish place directly opposite, not to mention The Codfather chip shop. I'm not sure if The Codfather sell kebabs though. They definitely sell chips and saveloys. We'll see how all of that develops this year.

The album finished just as I reached the Grand Union canal on the bank of The Black Horse pub in Greenford, so I treated myself to a piss, a pint of Stella and a bag of salt and vinegar crisps. On the walk back home I listened to 2001 by Dr. Dre and wondered if 2001 would have even been made if Biggie and Tupac had evaded their murderous assailants outside that posh casino and carried on making music. I often wonder what the gangsta rap landscape would look like today if them two hadn't passed away.

You can tell it's been about fifteen years since D'Angelo's last record because he's bottled doing the album cover on The Black Messiah. The artwork for every album and single he released previously has just been him with his top off. The Black Messiah is good but it's also an album Prince could have easily made if he wanted to in 2005, between Musicology and 3121. It's alright but it's not the best, sexiest, most soulful record I’ve ever heard. To be honest, D’Angelo sounds like Vic Reeves doing his pub singer bit in most of the songs, especially Sugah Daddy.

I suspect that a lot of people on the internet sometimes say that they love something and bang on about it without actually listening to it because they think it's the cool thing to be seen endorsing and are afraid of being honest. I might be wrong, but I rarely am.

D'Angelo And The Vanguard - The Black Messiah

Raica - Dose

Furtherrecords in Seattle have planned to give us all a dose of Dose by Raica at the end of this month. And by Dose, I mean an album called Dose. And by all that, I mean Furtherrecords are releasing an album by Raica called Dose on the 25 January. Fucking hell. I pestered Raica for a preview copy after I heard that she makes all of her music using Doepfer Energy + Dark Time, Waldorf Pulse+, Waldorf Q, samples and love. I didn't have a fucking clue what any of that means so I wanted to hear for myself. She sent me the WAVs and has promised to send me a proper record in the post. I was rubbing my hands together at the thought of listening to some fresh American beats...here's an indepth track-by-track review of Dose.

The first track on Dose is called Satmor and it's just the type of beatless, atmospheric scene-setter I know Ricky V will be opening a Fabric set with in a couple of months. The Only Way Is Essex fan, Raica, follows that up with another beatless banger called Tiwie, and if Marcus Worgull doesn't open his next Fabric gig with Tiwie, I'll be very fucking surprised. Confidently, Raica is now three tracks in without dropping a beat! Slep_Non sounds like about seven of those cheap ball bearing maze games you get in Christmas crackers being played at once, in a good way. Still no beats though. I wrote the following in the Notes app on my white iPad2: Watr Dragn evil fairground music, no beats. Couchfire Dron sounds like something I imagine being played at a Minimal Messages party where loads of Japanese normcore lads stand around nodding and jotting things down in little notepads in front of a projection display of mid-town 1950s Americana catalogue footage in a small, whitewashed Tokyo studio space. No beats yet.

Harchone is 4 minutes and 17 seconds of funny detuned pad tones and flittery fluttery noises. Beats? Fuck all. Skrt might be a song about skirts and is my favourite song on the album. Musically, Skrt is a breakdown from a late nineties Gatecrasher CHOON pitched right down so that it sounds scary. No beats. The only word I can reluctantly use to describe the last song on the album, Entrldam, is lush. I fucking hate the word lush because it reminds me of that thick Welsh bird on Big Brother 2 who kept banging on about how she loves blinking. She used to say lush all the time, I think. Not one beat in the whole album. Sounds disappointing, but it's not. I loved it and I reckon YOU will too.

In fact, Dose by Raica is fucking brilliant, despite her apparent hatred of all the kick drums in the world. Whack Dose on your stereo when you get back from the club because after an hour or so of melancholic, weird and loopy, intelligent Raica soundscapes, the impact the following CD's beats will have (FabricClive 09, Dave Clarke's World Service Volume 1 (the electro side), Miss Moneypenny's Too Glamourous, etc) on the after-party will be greater.

Raica - Dose

Radio Slave - Werk Remixes (DJ Richard/Dan Beaumont/s:vt)

What is it with DJ Dan Beaumont and the word, pumper? He did that song a while back called Trippy Pumper, the press release comments for Dan's remix of Radio Slave's Werk (on Work Them Records) describe his go as a 'strident pumper' and I'm sure I've seen him use the word, pumper, on various social media platforms for a variety of reasons, no examples I can think of right now. It really is a pumper of a remix though, it's the ONLY word to describe it. Dan Beaumont's use of the 909 kick drum is quite breathtaking, I've always said that.

Jay from Jay and Silent Bob lookalike, DJ Richard, or DJ Dick as I call him (and I would say that to his face because, by the look of his pictures on Google Images, I reckon I'd have him if he started), delivers a right fucking weird and mental eleven minute remix that'll make you question your universe, in a good way. I've not listened to the s:vt remix yet but I reckon I'd like it because Callum at Dispersion PR told me that it's "powerful" and "channels the original's tone perfectly." Sounds good to me, lads.

Radio Slave - Werk Remixes (DJ Richard/Dan Beaumont/s:vt)

That's it for this week's Weekly Review of Dance Music, Radio Slave's remixes win with a perfectly pumping ten out of ten. I'll be back next Tuesday with MASSIVE QUESTIONS with Anne Savage, London's Musical Bingo Wars, Groundhog Day: The Musical, an indepth look at the murky goings on at Juno, MASSIVE QUESTIONS with GILLES PETERSON, Groundhog Day On Ice, Hilarious Lookalikes, WRDMerchandise and Groundhog Day 2: This Time It's Personal.

Somehow, Tonka's Week on Ran$om Note continues each Friday and all. It's weird being me, it's like I can't stop shitting words out of my brain every week.

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