Becker: "It was an unspoken assumption between us that, if we did this, we were going to try and do something that was as dense and as well planned and has as much work and thought and quality of execution - hopefully - as the things we used to do. Probably, if we'd been a bit more objective about it we'd have been a bit more worried in advance. We hope that it is good and we hope that people will like it. We thought we'd ensure that by working really hard on it. I think there's a certain arrogance that has carried us through."

After six exhaustive years of complaining about the soulless drum sound and plastic/General Midi production aesthetics of Steely Dan's "Two Against Nature" to anyone who would listen to me, I proudly announce my 180 flipflop..."Gaslighting Abbie" is a masterpiece and is, musically speaking, legitimately comparable to anything from their platinum albums made back in the days when people got them.

"They used to be good" - Me, 2000

They still are. Still busy reverse engineering 'Morph The Cat' how does The Don use #11 substitutions yet avoid the 'movie soundtrack' feel so characteristic of the #4 lydian mode? I lose sleep over it. Everyone needs their heroes.

Possibly the greatest man alive today has turned up in a new documentary movie:
http://www.toptwothreefilms.com/films/digitalcomics.html

e-sheep is not dead...it just smells funny.

We miss your work Patrick, come back soon won't you....

For those who slept through this week's UN general assembly - I have a new hero. Who says international diplomacy can't be top draw entertainment?

Seriously, when's the last time you heard this kind of banter eh?..


"Yesterday, ladies and gentlemen, from this rostrum, the president of the United States, the gentleman to whom I refer as the devil, came here, talking as if he owned the world. Truly. As the owner of the world.

I think we could call a psychiatrist to analyze yesterday's statement made by the president of the United States. As the spokesman of imperialism, he came to share his nostrums, to try to preserve the current pattern of domination, exploitation and pillage of the peoples of the world.

An Alfred Hitchcock movie could use it as a scenario. I would even propose a title: "The Devil's Recipe."

The video footage is priceless, it speaks volumes - for once the world's UN ambassadors act unanimously as they struggle to conceal their mirth.
Hugo Chavez is the new Jimi Hendrix. Rock!!!

..goodbye my friend. I loved you from the moment I heard your sweet sweet song. You live in my heart forever.

May your journey through the stars be peaceful.

Set your faces to stunned. Donald Fagen beat me to it (once again)

Captain Donny has a new album "Morph The Cat" out March 14th.

The single 'H Gang' is killer. I'm going away to Brazil the day it's released, thus I'm currently snooping around for an early promo. Ain't too proud to beg for Donald Fagen.

...and if that isn't enough..this just popped up on his website:

NEWS
2/21/2006 - Donald Fagen on World Cafe
The World Cafe will be broadcasting the Donald Fagen session FRIDAY, MARCH 10TH, 2006.
The World Cafe with David Dye can be heard on more than 180 stations nationwide. You can find their local station by going to the following website:
http://worldcafe.org


Not being an American, I have no idea if I will catch this. Nervertheless I've already wet my pants, now it's your turn.

...depressed to find out that, upon my return home, for no obvious reason my M64C cartridge has crapped out - all my fancy patches for my Super Jupiter have crossed over to the other side. If anyone hears a mental sound circa 1987 Roland style it's mine, please return to it's anxious owner.
AND...three contacts on my 2800 (that's the showoff name for a plain old Odyssey) have given up. Balls. Anyone know if it's the very same cartridge that was used in other Roland gear? Prob yes but I can't remember....

Sent 2005 packing in fine style this time, for a change - played at Superconductor in Leeds with my pal Kirk Degiorgio. Many thanks to all the people who came.

Off to Japan on friday. Yaay. Double Yaay. Usually I don't like January. I understand that celebrity big brother kicks off on Channel 4 this friday, heralding the annual commencement of TV's diabolical campaign to further entrench us in our cultural and intellectual hell on earth. By some kind of divine coincidence, I am leaving the country on the very same day satan's wizards celebrate their hard work over the Xmas period by doubling their efforts to dent our frontal lobes in 2006. I'm too afraid to check whether the nightmare will be over by the time I return.

'Reality TV' is a most ludicrous oxymoron.

This was on Yahoonews today:

MOSUL, Iraq - In a festively bedecked dining hall, Defense Secretary Donald H. Rumsfeld served Christmas Eve dinner to dozens of U.S. soldiers, then fed them his view — with a mix of optimism, caution and emotion — of why the war that has cost more than 2,150 U.S. lives must be won. "We will win this war. It's a test of wills, and let there be no doubt that is what it is," he said. Rumsfeld told the troops that "generations before you have persevered and prevailed, and they too were engaged in a test of wills."

Met some long lost friends last night, I pushed the boat out, and woke up feeling rougher than Ghandi's flip flop this morning. I read this article, then took a nap 'cos I knew I'd be out again tonight. There I experienced a dream wherein ole Rummy was a Christmas ham, cooked but conscious, there he was on the table giving this very same speech whilst carving up slices of himself for troop after troop, skillfully placing wafer thin slices on the plates of our brave soldiers. A weird ham with arms, grey hair, specs and of course that demonic demeanour. All at once a soldier bit into his slice, then violently regurgitated it onto the table. And Rummy reiterated his mantra "generations before you have persevered and prevailed, and they too were engaged in a test of wills." "let there be no doubt that is what it is," he smiled.

I enjoyed this dream, because for once the symbolism was transparent. Usually I get up at 3am to build a go-Kart with me ex-landlord.

.......his 'acceptance speech' was broadcast in it's entirety tonight here in the UK. I was glued to the telly.

For those who didn't...it was not so much an acceptance of the accolade as a blistering tirade against our divine rulers.

"Most politicians are interested not in truth but in power and the maintenance of that power"

"George W Bush and Tony Blair must be held to account for feeding the public a vast tapestry of lies"

"Politicians feel it is essential that people remain in ignorance, that they live in ignorance of the truth, even the truth of their own lives"

He is referring to the mariginalization of the public from the democratic process, if you didn't get it. Though I am sure you did.

Dig that old guy in the wheelchair.

..or am I? The guy never turned up, so the behemoth gets a stay of execution. I had forgotten how heavy it is. I don't mean like Hendrix heavy, just back breakingly so. Someone else please come and get it before I change my mind +again+.

Tomorrow I'm finally selling my Roland JD800. This was not an easy decision for me. I made my name with this synth, and I"m really hurting now that I'm pimping it away for a fraction of it's true worth. Andy from Black Dog once told me that synths are blank when you buy them, and that it is up to the artist to put a soul into them. I feel that I did just that with my beloved JD. But we have reached the end of the road..realistically nearly every sound it can make is outdated, it is 1990s technology and it will forever stay that way. But there's one or two sounds that I love and it will hurt to say goodbye. So I have spent today frantically recording patches and riffs to audio in the hope that our split won't kill me.

Sure, I can buy another one in the future. But I know I won't. And even if I did, it wouldn't be my one.

Farewell my much misunderstood Roland JD S/N AD02935 you were with me from 1996-2005. And you will be sorely missed. Though we didn't care much for your "Ac. Piano 1" patch, "synthadelic bass" was a winner.

Anyone who knows the first thing about me is familiar with my deeply entrenched hatred of Xmas (I don't use the 'C' word it's bad manners) I will be spending December travelling from the arctic to the tropic and back, ingeniously using both the cold northern winter and the parching southern summer as vinidcation of hearty cocktail consumption. And thank God I'm on the move, because it's fucking grim here in Essex right now. Winter kicks in, I bugger off. Two things you may like to consider buying for a loved one this xmas- (I'm not buying shit for anyone, I just like to tell other people what to do)-

1) Boards of Canada 'The Campfire Headphase' This is almost certainly gonna be the finest album of 2005. So far it's untouchable. And such perfect timing for it's release. They've completely bucked the trend of trying to outweird previous releases and their so-called peers, and just kicked back and produced a really beautiful record. So far, I have discovered that it sounds best alone on a cold sunny beach. Here, for example (I'm lucky to have one close to my home) -

2) Bill Hicks 'Sane Man' live standup show from 1989. Out very soon on DVD. I went through a dangerous period last year, spending too much time identifying with this very confused, natural genius man. I knew this guy. OK I never met him. But I have listened to him drunkenly rant for hour upon hour about every subject under the sun, rather like any person that I have actually met. Just like all of my friends really.

Other stuff to check? There's a cool compilation out now on New Religion/ART records, with some collaboration material from moi and Kirk Degiorgio. And my mentor Claude Young is doing it all over again, following on from his seminal album of 2005 with new bullets. Get ready. And as for me? Like Xmas and Judgement day...it's coming. After the former but definitely before the latter.

I wonder how many other livejournal users write their entries under duress. That is to say, my girlfriend Naomi complains bitterly if I don't write something here. Whhotchich-whhotchich- that's my own onomatopoeic tag for the 'swoosh whip' sound. It has been an +extremely+ quiet November. But it's all kicking off next week. I will be exporting the rather bizarre circus that is my live show to the far flung reaches of Russia, S. America, Good Old Europe and anywhere else they will have me. Seriously, I'm looking forward to some delays, jetlag, surly inebriated alpha males, and who knows, maybe some 'fun' too. Bull. I can't wait!!!!!! I still love travelling, though it often hates me. I'm just amazed that I'm still alive.

I was horrifed to realise that, so far this year, by my count, I have fallen off of my bike more times than George Bush has. Say it isn't so. We were up in Gleneagles whinging about the G8 summit the last time he scuffed his knees. Precious memories.
Well, I can't undo mine, so I'll just have to hope he comes off again before the year's up.

Today my girlfriend pointed out to me that I haven't updated this page for a couple of weeks. She seemed to think that it would be a shame to run out the month without decorating what remains of it in some fashion. Kudos to her. But, apart from some (total) madness at Fabric London last weekend, October has been rather insular month. Even for me, that is. We've had some unseasonably warm sunny days this autumn, and easily the most unseasonal and magnificent of all was last thursday. Anyway I was enjoying the day on the beach. I stayed a little too long, and found myself riding home in the dark. I hate taking the roads home because it seems like all Essex drivers want to kill me first and fill out the police forms later, so I took the back route across the fields. It's pitch black, but I've done it a thousand times before, so whatever. Seemed like a good idea, I've always loved this way back, it's so isolated, and it was a beautiful clear night. About 20 mins in, my front light battery dies, so now it's +really+ dark. Fuck it, I'm hoofing it along for ten minutes or so, trying to remember where the big bumps are so I don't fall in the ditch, and then I see it. I see something big and wide looming in front, it's quite a long way away though. But it's moving quickly, more quickly than I can realise in the dark. Quickly, yet silently. Suddenly it's two feet from my face. Panic. I slam on the brakes, but in this slop I can not stop any time soon my front tyre hits it. It groans and begins to lumber away. I slip from the frame, lose my footing in the wet mud, and slip sideways into the swamp. And then I smell it. Yeah, that's right, I'm slumped in a MASSIVE pile of cowshit. All over my arms, my legs, my shoes, my bike. I have more immediate woes. I have scared the herd, so they begin to run, judging by the sound, towards me. These are burgerking cows, two tons a piece, monsters. Lying prostrate in the feculent mud, I am greeted to the stomach churning 'life before your eyes' experience of seeing 30 or 40 two ton meatballs frantically cantering toward me, some clattering into my bike, and then thankfully adjusting their trajectory to one that doesn't involve pressing their elvis-like bulk, via their cloven hooves, onto my soft head. I think my bike saved me, in this respect. The clank of hooves on metal seemed more troublesome than my shrieks, that's for sure. I scramble ungainly to my feet, wresting my foot from the swamp. My foot obeys, but my shoe stays stubbornly in the shit pile. I panic, and flee into the darkness, leaving my shoe to make it's last stand against the beasts. I soon make it to the clearing, and take the quiet path home with one shoe and a hell of a lot of cowshit as a souvenir. I admit it, I'm scared of cows. They know I won't eat them, and that makes them cocky. I get home, clean up, check my emails to find that I'm booked to give a Logic demo at the Apple store. Somehow it all fits together, I just don't know how. I can't help but feel that they might withdraw the invitation if they could have witnessed the little bovine charade. There is always something to write about. Thank you and goodbye, October. You were fun, and you stank at the same time.

..back on the Earthquake tip...thanks to the power of TV I witnessed tonight children being pulled from razed buildings in Kashmir, to the cries of 'God is Great.' How wonderful. Indeed he is, but just why did he see fit to bury these God loving people in the first place? That's where I lose it. A girl's school that collapsed instantly killing hundreds of innocent children sitting at their desks at the beginning of a school day, apparently collapsing so easily due to shoddy construction, that was in turn due to corrupt building contractors pocketing the profit margin between sub-standard (cheap) and quake proof buildings. Don't get me wrong, I'm not knocking these people's faith in the divine creator and his incontrovertible plan for us all, in fact I am sad that I just cannot share it, and in particular that he didn't feel it right to have a friendly chat with the people responsible for overseeing the construction of those buildings at the time. We can't see into the future. Isn't that his job? Hmm.

That people can undergo such tragedy and that it serves to reinforce their faith is an incredible thing. I feel lost in comparison. I wish I could believe in His Great Plan For Us All.

...perhaps, like myself, you were over the moon at reports of Boy George being arrested for Cocaine possession in NYC. Apparently he (or someone) called the cops reporting a burglary, they turned up only to bust the mofo. Oh my. They call it 'schadenfreude', yet I don't feel any shame tempering my glee over this man's disgrace and imminent prosecution. Apparently they found a few G's of the devil's dandruff next to his computer in his apartment. His lawyer swears blind that Saint George knows nothing about it, because "He's had a lot of people in his house." Turns out they're also doing him for 'falsely reporting an incident.' So presumably there was no burglary, I'm guessing they were all fucked up and one of his 'he's had a lot of people' people got so fucked up and wanted to get back at someone, or was so wired he thought a guest was robbing the pad, and dialled 911. Enter chief Wiggum and co., much to the astonishment of our intoxicated homeowner. There's nothing doing, and they're pissed at rich British idiots wasting their time. They can see he's fucked up, so whilst they're there they decide to have a look around and hopefully find some shit and make him sorry. It's easily done, the guy's so wasted he didn't even think to hide his shit, it's right there next to the computer. Bam! Busted.

.....a little background on this fella. I saw him urinate into another DJ's record box, because he was too wasted to bother finding his way to the little boy's room. True story. Incredibly, the DJ in question let him off scot free, though I was egging him on urging him to start some shit. I am from Essex, after all.

DJs like 'boy' George o'Dowd are at the root cause of dance music's musical and cultural stalemate. I hate everything he plays, and everything he represents. It is people like him that scrawled the moustache on the Mona Lisa and heralded it as progress.

...now he faces up to 15 years in jail. Maybe there is a God after all. If you ask me, he should have been prosecuted for crimes against musical taste and decency years ago. Bring back the lash, my favourite is the cat o' nine tails.

.....the pictures of Saturday's earthquake in Pakistan/Kashmir are heartbreaking. I experienced two big quakes in Tokyo this summer, I can honestly say there's nothing quite so frightening. Living here in the UK you grow up never thinking about the ground beneath you, it's inert, just something you walk upon. In quake zones, the earth is a demon, a sleeping monster, you live every day and night never knowing when the monster will awaken from his fiendish slumber. And when he does, God help you. By cruel fate, perhaps with the notable exceptions of the USA and Japan, the placement of Tectonic plates and the resulting dangers seem inversely proportional to the particular country's affluence and thus ability to cope. What a world.

...so I'm having trouble re-adjusting to normal life. I went to a party tonight, and discovered the dubious sound of a cat named Nate James. Anyone know this fraudulent mofo? A very clean, smooth, commercial, faux jazz funk sound. I found it highly offensive and deeply patronising. I mean, this guy makes Jamiroquai sound like an innovator! He broke the golden rule - never mention Stevie Wonder in your lyrics, you're just piggybacking and attempting to trick the weak minded listener into associating you with his music. Pull the other one, it's got funky bells on. He should certainly feel the sting of the lash across his pitiful shoulders. Rubbish man.

Whilst I'm always happy to know that the record companies have once again missed my demographic by a light year, such smugness is always tempered by the knowledge that everyone else seems content with the tripe that passes for vogue, whilst I stand around yelling "fraud" until I am puce in demeanour.

Me, I'd love to fit in. Yeah, right!!!!!

Tonight whilst going through some old papers and crap lying forlornly in a folder in the junk room, I found an old interview. It was a promotion piece for the release of 'Gigantic Days', for Mixmag magazine dated April 1999. I opened it, and there was a full page picture of my rather more youthful face (I was a bit shocked to see that I do indeed now look five years older.) Underneath was a quote that I gave, it read "Anyone who thinks that we will be entering some fantastic new age in a few months time will be sorely disappointed." Gigantic Days you see was my little statement about the importance of the age we live in, and how I felt that we had reached a crucial tipping point in human history, a sink or swim situation so to speak. The journalist proceeded to rib me in the article somewhat for being all gloomy about the forthcoming millennium. What psychologists refer to as the False Authority Syndrome. I was hip to that. So did I get it right or what? Yeah that's right you guessed it, I'm Nostradamus I'm your portal to the future. I could be Jesus, but that's err so like Last Millennium. By the way I stole the 'I hate the 00's' picture from Patrick Farley, but that's OK 'cos I'm running things now. I'm hoping to absorb some of his genius along the way. Anyway people you're all safe in my hands. Except Tony Bliar and the Scissor Sisters. Repent ye sinners, for your time is nigh. It's not my fault you're evil, but I'll come down on you like a ton of bricks just the same.