I can't believe it's the middle of June already, ladies and gentlemen. It only seems like a fortnight ago that it was the BEGINNING of June!

LOLoutLOUD. That was, of course, a hilarious joke (at my expense) about my exaggeratedly poor perception of time. I always like to start each post off with a joke, as you know. Coming up straight after this explanation of the above joke is the serious business of reviewing new music. New fucking music.

Ch-check these out:
I'd never heard of Hauschka until 2013 when the Ran$om Note editor had a massive hard-on about going to see him with his missus in Dalston. He described him to me as, "a dark-haired German genius who publicly plays prepared piano in a plethora of perfectly unpredictable and non-perfunctory performances around the planet." I was listening to a lot of Blacknecks at the time and didn't want to know about a German bloke who flies around the world playing a piano. I wanted to know more about a Scottish bloke and a UK bloke who travel around Birmingham playing synthesizers and drum machines. Anyway, I nodded and lied about having heard of Hauschka, and lied about liking him, and lied about having seen him play before, and lied about just missing out on tickets for the Dalston gig because I was caught up in the middle of writing a biography of Hauschka for an imaginary Quietus article.

I'll tell you what though, he's got a new album called 2.11.2014 coming out soon that is only two tracks long! They're each about twenty minutes in length though. I obtained a promo copy, took it all in and I'm now about to review it on here.

Part 1 of 2.11.2014 whistled through my ears as I stood three feet east of Eros in Piccadilly Circus, arms outstretched and staring through the hordes of human beings that came and went with an intensity that, bizarrely, bordered on a sad, humid ennui. Thunderous winds forced my arms to wobble and half-windmill. The noise of nine thousand tourists under-dubbed the German dramaturgie unfolding in my ears...a tear...uninvited...

...only joking. I listened to 2.11.2012 whilst watching a game of Candy Crush being played over the shoulder of a blonde-haired bored girl in a cheap pink blouse on the Central line west to Northolt.

Part 1 starts off serious, with lots of atmospheric piano noises and melancholic, slow-motion pedal bashing. Then, out of nowhere, at 8 minutes, it becomes playful in a way I can only describe to YOU as sounding like an Ástor Piazzolla (Milonga Loca) and ADULT. (Silent Property) mash-up. It carries on in that style until 13 minutes in, where it goes a bit sad until the last 3 or 4 minutes.

Now, I'll be very fucking surprised if Ricardo Villalobos hasn't already sampled the last 3 or 4 minutes of Part 1 because it'd be right up his street. In my notebook, I scribbled the words: final 3 - 4 mins clipped, chiseled and snipped staccato piano style. V minimal. V classical. V Villalobos.

Part 2 of 2.11.2012 starts off fast and sounds just like a Jimmy Edgar track. Then, after 2 minutes it breaks down and doesn't stop breaking down for another 5 minutes, during which it DEFINITELY leaves the listener with the feeling that it's 4.40am and they're now on the dance floor at The End in 2008, listening to the shattered eccentricity of Roar by Patrice Bäumel.

On about 7 minutes the Patrice Bäumel percussive elements still flit in and out but the atmosphere has changed slightly. I felt a sense of both dread and optimism, the sense that the final ten minutes of this composition could LITERALLY go off into a direction that doesn't sound like this bridging section, if in fact it is a bridging section, it could actually be a proper part. No, it bridges to a section at around 10 minutes where the image it conjurers up is of a naked labourer running slowly across Westminster Bridge at 3am in the snow, unaware of his predicament. Running blindly. Running. Running towards a light that at 12 minutes almost promises to flame up and explode before suddenly transmogrifying into a musical derelict forest, with a woodland lower end piano melody that lifted my spirits for an athletic change of pace that never came.
On 13 minutes, Hauschka makes it dark and lonely again for a couple of minutes before tailing off into a final 6 minutes of the kind of thing I'd stick onto the end of a Fabric mix to make me sound like a proper DJ. By the time 2.11.2014 had finished, I was almost back at WRDMHQ. I was tired physically from having to stand up all the way from Bond Street and mentally from having to have listened to forty odd minutes of music that had fuck all in the way of a kick drum, vocal or bass line.

I don't know if I'm clever enough, poncey enough or patient enough to like Hauschka's music, but by way of appreciation to the PR bloke who was kind enough to send me the promo, I'll score 2.11.2014 quite highly.

2.11.2014 by Hauschka

2.11.2014 is released on the 22 June 2015, but you can pre-order a copy here: 02-11-2014
Show me a better review than that of anything this week and I'll show you a face (mine) that will say the word, "liar", to your face (yours). It's mad that I'm not writing for Pitchfork or The Guardian by now, isn't it? I was going to write two more reviews on this post tonight, but I can't be fucked now. I'll BANG on instead about how great I am and moan about how all these big websites and magazines are ignoring my talent. How many more times do I have to reference an Argentinian tango legend on a contemporary dance music blog before the main, cash-rich organisations recognise a unique voice and whack some more work my way?

Well, I say cash-rich. Half of them look like they've got loads of money because they're always putting their names on things like large-scale annual events in different cities around the world, getting bought out by multi-billion dollar media corporations and bragging on social media about how fucking brilliant and talented they are, but they don't half struggle to cough up a few quid to pay their contributors and, in some cases, staff after they've published an article that was submitted prior to the deadline set by the person who's asked for the article in the first place. LOLoutLOUD.
I don't know. I've only been stung once properly, and that was by Meoko. I wrote six articles for them in 2013 that, admittedly, probably nobody fucking read, but I was offered an amount of money per article before I agreed to do any work. Did they pay me? They paid for the first three articles (after email chase-ups) but I gave up chasing for the last three after a month or two. Silly of me. Shitty of them. I wrote about how lucky I am to not need the money these organisations pay for a 1000 word article last year, but it's still a piss-take and there are LOADS of struggling writers with bills to pay who are having to demean themselves and scrape to the cunts who don't have the decency to pay on time.

VICE. I had to chase VICE up in May for an article I wrote for them last December. VICE.

Fucking VICE magazine. Do you know how rich this magazine is? They're not even just a magazine anymore. They do everything that you can think of that sits under the umbrella of media, their boss wants "media domination" and they're backed by Rupert fucking Murdoch. They've got enough in the bank to pay a knob head like me on time.

They didn't even publish the article I wrote in December because, 1) it was atrocious, and 2) it didn't tie in with an angle about Nigel Farage I think they wanted to push. They offered me a 50% kill fee for it and it still took six months and a few emails until they coughed up.

I'm still waiting for the fee for that Bullshitter's Guide to Hard House I wrote in April. Again, fuck knows how many people read it. Fuck knows how many people at VICE gave a shit about it, but I was still promised payment prior to accepting the job and I think I'm still waiting - I haven't checked my online banking for a week, so maybe it's in there now. If it is (LOL), it'd still mean I've been chasing up a staffer at a multi-billion dollar company for less than a hundred pounds for two months solid. I'm not the only one who's getting fucked over like this but I'm the only one, as far as I know, who's posting anything about it...

...everyone else is trying to write for a living. They can't afford to call out tight-fistedness like I can. I'm a fucking super hero, me.
I know there are loads of mags and sites that pay on time, and are sound to deal with, and I'm only going off a couple of my own experiences and the anecdotes of quite a few of my industry insiders. RBMA (allegedly), Mixmag (allegedly), VICE (definitely) and Meoko (definitely) to name a few have all either failed to pay on time - and by a stretch that nobody on their editorial team would ever have allowed the submission of an article from a contributor to be as late by, or have thrown a massive pair of balls around and failed to pay at all. Cheeky?

Is this widespread or am I making a mountain out of a molehill again? Get in touch and let me know.

Personally, I don't care if I'm never offered cash to write for anyone else ever again (I'll always have WRDM and R$N), but I hope that the money-hungry, ad-chasing finance departments of these places get their acts together because if I see another of my writing friends suffer the indignity of having to bow and go all Oliver! to see some digits months and months after taking the time and effort to do some work, I'm going to smash the fucking lot up.

Next week, we've got that eagerly anticipated interview with Anne Savage and a load more Hilarious Lookalikes.

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