Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo!

Home boy.
On their new album, Public Enemy Live From Metropolis Studios, Chuck D and Flavor Flav start every song by shouting, "yo", back and fourth for about two minutes before eventually shouting about something else over the top of a load of hip-hop beats, James Brown trumpet samples and Circo Loco siren noises in front of a muted, middle/media-class (probably) audience.

I went for a job interview at Metropolis Studios in 2011. I don't recall the job title, but the role involved a lot of property management, responsibility for a couple of subordinates and a load of admin across a few different departments. It was a proper job. I interviewed well, and was offered the job on the spot. I said, "How much, love?" The interviewer said, "Excuse me?" I said, "How much? How much am ya payin'?" She said. "Eighteen thousand pounds per year, Tonka." I said, "How much?" She said, "Eighteen thousand." I said, "How much?" She said, "Eighteen thousand pounds per year." I said, "How much?"

This conversation went on and on and on until I finally stood up, left the meeting room and exited the building. I walked all the way back to WRDMHQ shaking my head and whispering the words, "Eighteen thousand pounds per year for all that work. Deary me." I made a vow to myself that very day to NEVER follow my dreams by attempting to get a normal job in the music industry because the rates of pay are a fucking disgrace. Metropolis might be a world class recording studio complex, but they don't half offer shit wages to the staff who don't do the cool jobs.

Saying that, I think Public Enemy Live From Metropolis Studios is alright. I'm not a massive fan of Public Enemy, to be honest. I prefer the Notorious B.I.G. Dr. Dre, Snoop Doggy Dogg, Jay-Z, early Ice Cube, NWA, Nas' first album, Nate Dogg, the Beastie Boys, some Q-Tip and Tupac Shakur because they rap about the things that matter to ME. All Public Enemy seem to care about is politics, standing up to corporate bullies and encouraging a collective social power to the African American population in a positive, liberal way. It's boring rap compared to the rappers who rap about shagging women, Uzi 9 millimetres, dosh and clobber.

If you like Public Enemy, buy Public Enemy Live From Metropolis Studios. Just because I don't like them, and I'm not a fan of Metropolis Studios, it doesn't mean you won't like this release, does it? Give it a go. Plus, I'm about to score it a louder than a bomb rattling eight out of ten! It's released on Friday 4 September: Public Enemy Live From Metropolis Studios

Public Enemy Live From Metropolis Studios

My very dear friend, Dan Beaumont, released Spirit Talkin' earlier this summer, and they all played it from Bournemouth to Bishopbriggs. Everyone was playing it, especially me. Since about the first week of June, I played it at the beginning of every post I wrote on here. I still do, in fact. Spirit Talkin' has replaced the National Anthem at WRDMHQ, and until the lads at Work Them Records supersede it with something more stirring, it will always be played at WRDMHQ before I open up my laptop.

Hang on a minute, I've just received an email with the subject: DPR PRESS RELEASE: Dan Beaumont "Spirit Dubbin’ (inc. Patrik Sjeren, J Dubs and Spencer Parker remixes)" - Work Them Records (28-09-2015). Let's have a read of this then...
...fuck me. They're only releasing a remix pack of Spirit Talkin' called Spirit Dubbin' where all the remixes are DUBS!!! Nice one! And after reading the rest of the email, I'm licking my lips at this one AND rubbing my tummy. See below for details (I've bullet-pointed the only information you need with regard to the remixes themselves):

Dan Beaumont
Spirit Dubbin’ (inc. Patrik Sjeren, J Dubs and Spencer Parker remixes)
Work Them Records / WTR024
Vinyl Release Date:   28 August 2015
Release Date:             28 September 2015

Patrik Sjeren Dub
  • Chilling production 
  • Ghostly echoes
  • Tantalising synths
J Dubs Remix
  • Understated percussion
  • Undulating bassline
  • Infectious claps
Spencer Parker Workdub
  • Rumbling kicks
  • Shuffling hats
  • Stripped back
I've not listened to any of these yet, but it looks fucking brilliant and, knowing Dan Beaumont, it WILL be fucking brilliant.

Dan Beaumont - Spirit Dubbin’

"Support from Magda, Solomun, Paco Osuna, Adriatique, Moodyman, I mean Moodymanc, DJ Vela, Paul Loraine, Kosmas Epsilon, Marco Resmann, Markus Enochson, Lee Holman" No, we're not talking about the latest hit by Richie Hawtin or Heartthrob, I'm talking about the new FUCKING BRILLIANT song by the upcoming upstart and upwardly mobile upper dropper, Joe Europe; Wasted On You on Falk.

Joe Europe hails from the continent of Europe, and is forever writing about dance music here and releasing dance music here. If I were to compose a testimonial on Joe Europe's LinkedIn page that relates to this new release, I'd say that Joe is a consummate professional who plans his dance music work meticulously to ensure that his tracks are delivered on time without compromising quality. He is an excellent communicator and dance music producer who quickly engenders trust in both his label employees, customers and those who work for him. There is never any doubt that, no matter what obstacles may get in his way, he will get the job done. The job in this instance is Wasted On You, a dance track that is about as dance as you can get in this day and age. Know what I mean?

If you don't procure Wasted On You by Joe Europe on Falk, you're a fucking div. It's out on Monday 14 September. Open this link to go about buying it: falkrecs.com

Joe Europe - Wasted On You

Worra lorra reviews I just did in one go! I'm spent. Joe Europe just nicks it there at the end with a blood-curdling ten out of ten. WRDM is definitely back on form, isn't it? It is though, isn't it? It just is. And I've not banged on once about the liars at VICE taking months to pay me and then plonking £75 into my account two hours after publishing WRDM52 (Tonka's Orders: Go Fuck Yourself) again, have I?
The Weekly Review of Dance Music will be back next week with either MASSIVE QUESTIONS with Martyn Hare or a feature on all the different people you'll meet in a nightclub, or all the different stages of your clubbing life, or all the things I pretended to overhear at the Notting Hill Carnival on Sunday 30 August whilst grooving and skanking to the cool sounds of Tinie Tempah, Skream, Katy B, David Zowie, J-Cush, Oneman and many, many more who are sound-tracking the delicious, mouth-watering and Thug Passion-tasting Alizé bar in association with Rinse FM on the Rough But Sweet sound-system with a spliff hanging out the side of my mouth and a borrowed Bobby's helmet sat on my head at a jaunty angle.


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Super Hilarious Lookalikes: Turbo Championship Edition

Last week's WRDM was a bit fucking heavy, wasn't it? Deary me. Let's lighten, brighten and lighten things up a bit by dive-bombing our arses into a MASSIVE swimming pool full of Hilarious Lookalikes on WRDM, the world famous Weekly Review of Dance Music, in this week's special Super Hilarious Lookalikes: Turbo Championship Edition on this week's Weekly Review of Dance Music, otherwise known as WRDM: the Weekly Review of Dance Music.

When you hear the beat...let's go:

I know she's got fuck all to do with dance music, but I've been saying Yvette Cooper looks like T-1000 out of Terminator 2: Judgement Day for about a year and a half now. When are the Labour party members going to take notice? Any armchair politician will tell you that you're about as electable as an outed paedophile if you look a bit like a fictional Hollywood baddie. PMSL.

Have you ever seen Charles Kennedy stumbling around the Courtyard at Cream, badgering young white lads with afros and shell-suits on for Mitsibishis and booking superstar DJs like Paul Oakenfold, Carl Cox and Krysko? Have you ever seen James Barton stumbling around the House of Commons, badgering opposition MPs and then suddenly dying of a major hemorrhage linked to alcoholism? None of that makes sense, but it scans well and you can kind of get what joke I was trying to make with it, can't you? LOLoutLOUD.

No. Sorry. This one doesn't work as well as it did in my head. Next. ROFLOFL.

Don't try and tell me that you've never done a double-take after your seventh Mitsibishi down Republic in Sheffield for Gatecrasher in the late 90s. No, it wasn't Manchester United goalkeeper, Peter Schmeichel, spinning Forbidden Fruit for about the fourth time, it's Armin Van Buuren playing Flaming June for the third time! LOLOLOLOLOL.

As far as I remember from my Jamaican DJing classes at secondary school, King Stitt (Rest In Peace) earned that nickname as a boy because of his stuttering and decided to use it as his stage name. Stitt began deejaying on Clement Dodd's Sir Coxsone's Downbeat Sound System in 1956.

Count Machuki, the original Jamaican deejay, noticed him for his dancing and offered him to try his hand on the mic. Stitt soon built his own deejay set, occasionally replacing him and eventually becoming one of the most popular deejays on the island's dances. He became King Stitt when he was crowned "king of the deejays" in 1963, in the heyday of ska.

Following the folding of Sir Coxsone's Downbeat's sound system around 1968 (as Coxsone preferred to concentrate on recordings), Stitt found himself working as a mason in Ocho Rios. He had been deejaying at the mic for over ten years when he was first recorded over brand new reggae rhythms in 1969, creating some of the first deejay records ever.

He also looked exactly like Blanka out of Street Fighter II after Zangief had done about four spinning piledrivers in a row on him and got a Perfect. ROFLMAO.

Mark Heap don't half look like Moritz von Oswald...or is it the other way round?! Who knows, eh? I don't know which one's been around the longest, to be honest. One's been a comedy actor for years, the other one's been doing the high-brow, poncey end of techno for years. Either way, they look a bit like one another if you paste both of their photos into Microsoft Word, change the colour saturation to 0% in the Format section of Picture Tools and squint. ROTFL.

Fuck me. I've almost lost the will to live after doing all of them. I'd rather be moaning about having to chase up lying websites for peanuts like proper freelancers are always having to do.

Not really. LOLoutLOUD. I'll be back next week with either MASSIVE QUESTIONS with Daniel Avery where the only questions I ask are about old school WWF characters or a normal MASSIVE QUESTIONS with Martyn Hare. Yes, the Weekly Review of Dance Music goes from strength to strength. Don't let ANYONE convince you otherwise.

Please don't let anyone convince you otherwise.

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WRDM52 (Tonka's Orders: Go Fuck Yourself)

I've spent ages trying to figure out the best way of writing this post. I've even considered scrapping WRDM entirely because I wasn't sure that I could find the appropriate words for what I want to say. It's been stressing me out. You know how Dr. Dre deleted Detox because he thought it was shit and released Compton last week instead? Well, I've screwed up half-written posts called What's A Dance Writer Worth?, VICE Are Fucking Thieves, Dance Music Journalism Is Full Of Fucking Thieves and Liars, DJ Mag, VICE, RA, Meoko And Butch Cassidy Are All The Fucking Same At The End Of The Day, Maybe It's Me, Maybe I'm Not Worth It, I Don't Deserve A Thing and I'll Never Get The Credit I Deserve, So I May As Well Just Die and chucked them all over my shoulder into an imaginary waste paper basket in the corner of my imaginary office over the course of the last few weeks. I'm exactly like Dr. Dre.

As you can see, my mental health has been deteriorating because of this post. I've been sweating more than Les Coker's palms at the thought of not being able to complete WRDM52 and it's been showing in the very poor Tweets and Facebook posts I've been writing recently (not to mention the bollocks I've been phoning into Ran$om Note in the last few weeks). I've gone properly fucking shit!
So, what are we talking about this week then, eh? I'm only writing from my own very limited experience, but am I the only person in the world who, when asked to write for a website or magazine, submits the article to the requested word count, prior to the deadline and then has to chase like a lemon to get paid for it? Am I? No? Phew! LOLoutLOUD. I thought I was the only one! That boring website with no clear identity or purpose, Meoko, still owe me for three articles out of six that I wrote for them in 2013 - I know I'll never see that, but, to be honest, I'd never heard of Meoko until somebody called Nix Venter messaged me on Facebook to ask if I'd write a few things for her - she looked fucking fit, so I said yes.

Meoko paid alright for the first article, I had to email reminders for the next two, but for the last three I think Nix got bored and stopped responding to my emails. I then got bored chasing. Sugar Lips, where's my money? Upside down smiley face.
How do little, no-name outfits like Meoko have the balls to flat out refuse to pay their contributors? I could understand if a gang like Resident Advisor did it because they're an esteemed magazine who a lot of writers would embarrass themselves to be associated with. They can afford to be cheeky. They're doing Radio 1 now. They're not going anywhere, and starving wannabe wordsmiths will queue up to write for next-to-zero pence/cents per word or write unpaid trial reviews and take laughably low-paid internships as long as they get to plonk, "Writes for Resident Advisor" on their LinkedIn profile, like what I did when I wrote a piece for Thump - more on them later. I've always just been happy contributing to the Resident Advisor threads, but should an offer of paid (I don't mind how much) regular reviews and the occasional long-form feature come about I'd obviously take the time to consider it/snap their fucking hands off. Get in touch, guys (as long as I don't have to change my entire style of writing and pen name, as suggested to me by an RA staffer after I died on my arse speaking at the London Electronic Music Event in 2014).

The Weekly Review of Dance Music and Tonka's Week is a hobby for me, and I don't need the pennies that music journalism sometimes teases you with because I'm absolutely fucking loaded with money as it is. LOL. Can you imagine having to write about dance music for a living these days? It's a sorry cesspool full of desperate backswimmers, leeches, sticklebacks and worms all competing to tell the same stories, often in the least original way.
Can you put yourself in the shoes of a staffer at an enormous "culture" juggernaut that is so far from the edge, it's literally in the middle, shouting about EDM to an "underground" audience? I know I'm weeing in the wind with this, but how I didn't get paid on time by that clunky, shit-faced, billion dollar media block, VICE, is a mystery to me.

I wrote A Bullshitter's Guide To Hard House for Thump (VICE's electronic music and culture website) in March; mindless nostalgia content that Thump and the Weekly Review of Dance Music specialise in. Tonka met the deadline. Tonka exceeded the word count. Tonka accepted the rubbish, careless editing and replacement of sentences that made me read like a fucking pussy clart. Tonka sent an invoice, as requested. Tonka waited for a bit.

What's seventy five quid to a billionaire that's always banging on about exploring uncomfortable truths and going to places they don't belong?
In June, I was kindly asked to delete a Tweet about not getting paid by Thump (undeleted) and then had some mouthy cunt in Brooklyn called Joel Fowler pipe up to tell me to stop moaning because he was going to sort my money out (he lied and didn't sort my money out). After five months of private chase up emails and one shirty Tweet, Tonka got paid by the staffer who commissioned the piece. A fucking staffer...out of his own pocket! A staffer at VICE called Josh Baines, who's Twitter timeline is an aggressively endless snark, who shits himself every time I hint at how greedy his magazine is in public. He ended up paying me, not the Finance department! Can you believe it? No, hold on. I've just had a look at my online banking and Josh was lying as well. He didn't pay any money into my account like he said he would last week.

Fuck me. These liars are everywhere!

Loads more people read Thump than WRDM though, and that's always going to be the case, so I don't know why I'm even writing about it. I'm staring down a giant who doesn't even know I'm there. Nobody gives a shit. Despite taking the time to write this self-absorbed-bollocks-masquerading-as-a-man-of-the-people post, I don't even give that much of a shit, but I do think there's an interesting article to be written about all these big magazines and websites that exploit their hard-working and deluded contributors.
Are there too many voices? Maybe it's the hordes of numbskulls like me with a Google Blogger account, a few too many years clubbing in the bank and a cross-eyed regard of their own influence that's ruining it for the writers who have dedicated their lives to journalism, and studied it at university, and take it seriously. You look at Thump and Pulse - to name two - and it's plain to see that a lot of these websites will take any old writer on to write any old content, and that writer then thinks they're contributing something to the scene. Who's winning? Fuck knows. If you're a proper writer who agrees with any of what I'm saying, write a proper article about it. This is only WRDM.

I've had a lot of skilful writers respond to shady questions I've thrown out under the radar about mags that are fucking terrible at paying for articles. One magazine seems to dwarf all others.

Legend has it that the owner of DJ Mag is the heir to the Robertson's Jam fortune, an organisation who famously kept golliwogs on their marmalade jars throughout the 1980s. In the special Excel chart I created to process the results of my secret survey, the DJ Mag column fucking TOWERS over the Thump, RA, Red Bull UK, Tank Magazine and Meoko ones. Whether the Robertson's Jam myth has anything to do with their bad reputation amongst dance writers is up for debate, but it's worth mentioning because it's quite funny if it's true.
If you're writing an article for DJ Mag, don't expect to get paid for months and months and months and months and months. One reliable source told me that they've had payments delayed four months, six months, nine months and more after submitting work for them. Another told me their record was twenty (20!!!) months before payment. Twenty fucking months. You get your name in a big magazine, but spend twenty months broke and chasing up your money IF you have the confidence to chase. Others have told me they don't chase out of fear in case they don't get offered work in the future, so end up writing for free anyway. Who's winning?

I am.

And the writers who are lucky enough to get in at places like the Guardian, RBMA, Boiler Room, MTV, Rolling Stone, The Northolt Gazette, Mixmag, Beano, Pitchfork, Weekly Review of Dance Music, The Quietus and Hottest Asian Babes. Publications I've heard nothing but good stuff about.

So, what have we learned from this week's post? Fuck knows. It was probably just a massive waste of time and not worth the aggro. Maybe the magazines I've been down on do pay on time sometimes. Maybe I was just unlucky and it's been a big coincidence that the people I've spoken with have independently experienced similar problems with the same magazines and websites. Maybe the magazines and websites I've had positive feedback on sometimes forget to pay their contributors on occasions too. I don't know. There's no right or wrong to any of this, is there? Lighten up, Tonka, and chill out. LOLoutLOUD.

Whilst I was moaning about everything I've written above, I should have been writing MASSIVE QUESTIONS for Martyn Hare. Sorry, Martyn. I'll get them over to you soon, mate. I should also have been making notes on the new Trevor Jackson compilation that got sent to me the other day; Trevor Jackson Presents: Science Fiction Dancehall Classics. It's fucking brilliant, and I've been moping around WRDMHQ with a face on, mithering about how much RA pay per word like I'm the dance Russell Brand. I'm not Russell Brand. I'm Tonka. It's none of my fucking business, is it?

Next week, Hilarious Lookalikes returns to the screens of WRDM for the very first time since the last time I did some Hilarious Lookalikes. I can't fucking wait to publish that kind of content again.

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