'Rock Night Satellite 1st Birthday'
Thurs 11th May 2006
181 Stoke Newington Church St
First band 8pm prompt - 11pm
Â£4/3 with flyer/Artrocker card
A celebratory night of all things noisy and musical from punk to drone, folk to electronics.
Yes, that's right we are 1 year old or 356 days to be precise. That's 356 more days than any man has spent on Pluto or 10 days more than my pet dog Jamilla has spent in The Whipping House on Cable St E1. (yes, you can Google it.) It is also 356 more days than the person who stole my scooter will spend on this planet if i catch them. If you see anyone riding a dragon red Piaggio Typhoon 125, one of the few left in London, feel free to challenge them with a brick to their scummy zit ridden faces. But, i beg of you to keep them alive. Just bring them round to mine, i'll take good care of them, i swear...
Birthday Party, fun, fun, fun, not nasty thoughts...
Ok, so what do we have for you this month? A right mixed bag that's what. Punk, avant good fun prog, experimental orchestrations and snappy electronic pop...according to myspazz and the likes, the best bit being, where i usually haven't heard a band on the bill, this time i haven't heard a bl*ody thing by any of them. But, i have faith like you don't believe. Faith in a name and faith that if i do book them my life may well be spared. So lets make something up.
Headlining we have a band that sounds like the sound a fax machine would make if you fed a Scouse accounts clerk in to it and waited for the OK, CLECKSHUDDERSFAX.
They've gigged with Terry Waite around Beruit on a reunion tour and have even been sighted behind the controls of a chinook helicopter over Bluff Cove with Simon Weston startling sheep and horses with imitation firearms and dodgy grime MC'ing. Rumor also has it that they once shared a champagne bath with Jordan's son, Harvey, but had to be removed when their electronic ankle tags went off causing the poor kid to fry like one of the baddies in Goldfinger. To date this has in no way been verified, as the young man and his buxom mum have recently been spotted on an Amnesty hike to Machu Picchu sporting matching pink jumpsuits, allegedly.
MULA, i've met the front man behind this band on two occasions and he's a decent lad who also goes by the name Senor Mick, which is even better. That doesn't mean to say, however, his Brighton based band are any good though does it? So if they fail to pull a decent crowd based on hype and still force me to hand over good $ for a two bit house band with a penchant for line dancing, then you have my permission to do with them what you will. This doesn't mean you can strip them of their tracksuits by setting fire to them with a supersoaker loaded with fuel and a lighter taped to the end of the barrel though. (ah, the memories of children's Vietnam) but, it does mean you can force them to sleep rough on the streets of Dalston wearing Klan paraphernalia.
These guys electro rock, catch them here in advance of what will be a sell out Cargo show.
Next up we have a band brought back from the dead via a series of seances and ritual sacrifices spanning from Trinidad to Clapton. The people behind their resurrection, having successfully collected enough blood from bats, rats, chickens and orphans to do away with the hose pipe ban once and for all, now live in a squat in Kennington and are available for hire, meanwhile we are left with dun, dun, da...DARK PHASE.
Fronted by a female monkey with more tricks up her sleeve than a South African claiming to have Scottish grandparents, this three piece experimental outfit can shoot a smoke from a man's lips at one hundred yards without even getting out of bed, loading the gun or aiming. They do it with their mind. Isn't that amazing!
First spotted supporting Jefferson Airplane in 66' at Santa Clara University, Dark Phase quickly toppled from grace after claiming the headliners weren't in fact anything to do with someone called Jefferson or an Airplane, but they were in fact shape shifting reptilians who worshipped a man called Matthew Pollard from the CZ Republic. Despite this person never being born at the time, one thing led to another and the introduction of a squirrel and a cybernetic organism in to the mix meant the band were continually on the run through the sewers of LA, stopping briefly to film the hit TV series, the A-Team, before passing into obscurity presumed dead. They were dead. Nobody should presume anything.
DESPERATE CYCLE. A wonky frame and a flat back tire and this push iron went on the rampage having witnessed the murder of its own wife at the hands of a Italian mafia boss. Thirty years on and the hunt continues. No one is safe. Whatever you do don't break out in to your native Stoke Newington tongue.