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As the effects of the green subside and my bravado returns I resume shouting at Sarah Cox on Radio One. Are the BBC really this out of touch?

I’m sure Miss Cox is a decent enough human being, but as a presenter of prime time radio all across the UK? Are you fucking kidding me? Her cringe worthy attempts at being witty, cool and relevant make me embarrassed – on her behalf.

However, this is not my car and I am not driving – so I have to accept the owner’s privilege to command the wireless. I have little choice therefore but to sit here, stare out at the wet weather and sulk. I bet if Sarah Cox had to describe herself in a singles ad she would use the expression “quirky” or “bit mad”.

After another 20 minutes my colleague finally relents to my persistent sour faced pleading and allows me to at least turn the volume down a little. I do so, turning the dial to the left….little bit more….little bit more…….finally it ‘clicks’ into the off position and we are left in silence. “So how’s work”? I say, attempting to change the subject before I’m rumbled.

He gives me that look and then flicks the radio back on – this time turning the volume higher than its original level.

And she’s back.

Mumbling away in an incoherent torrent of what appear to be words – “Ooo, I really loov a bi’ a cake”. Jesus Christ. Is this what its come down to? What do I do? Grab the steering wheel and direct us into that lamppost coming up on the left? Open the passenger side door and take my chances with the traffic? Better not, get my suede shoes wet.

I doubt the BBC will be calling me to ask for my evaluation on their current line up but if they do…..

Chris Moyles – A proper presenter who understands what constitutes good radio and a pretty decent bloke by all accounts – but there’s no denying his show could do with a spring clean.

Scott Mills – Not my cup of tea. He’s too bloody nice. The kind of bloke you’d like your daughter to hook up with. One could argue his fascination with Hasslehoff is a tad odd – even if it is supposed to be tongue in cheek. Oh, and by the way – it was a terrible idea to let Chappers have his own show. I don’t know what Chappers looks like but when I hear him speak I think of the giant from Jack and Beanstalk. Big bubbling dufus.

Jo Wiley – Amazing presenter. Amazing person. Always so honest, unassuming and humble. Love her work. Love her. Great supporter of quality new music and a truly talented broadcaster. Gold star for you Wiley – you can wipe the black board for Sir at the end of the lesson.

Zane Lowe – Although his style may occasionally annoy the tits out of me you can’t deny the guy’s enthusiasm and extensive musical knowledge which spans so many genres. Lowe has done more for quality music in this country than anyone else on radio since John Peel. He helped drive the final nail into the coffin of the “boy band era” (although the bastards seem to be touring again with a vengeance). Although they can never be compared, Lowe offers a glimmer of hope for the thousands of unsigned bands out there looking for a lucky break that previously relied on the incredibly thorough pioneering skills of Peel. Give Lowe more airtime during the day I say.

Tim Westwood – With the world in financial crisis and every newspaper painting endless pictures of doom and gloom it’s important we have someone as hilarious as Tim Westwood on hand when we need a really good laugh. Did you see him at Glastonbury last year? When he did “Pimp my Ride” on one of Michael Evis’s tractors – that was TV gold. How he came up with his ridiculous accent amazes me. The man’s a comic genius.

As for these clowns……

Sarah Cox – P45
Vernon Kaye – P45
Bill and Ben (or is it Dick and Dom?) – P45
Edith Bowman – I was going to say P45, but her show is really useful when you find it hard to sleep.
Jamie Theakston (ok so he’s on Heart, not BBC but he still needs a P45)

In conclusion – just because someone is a reasonably popular children’s TV presenter doesn’t mean they will be any good on radio. Whoever came up with that theory also needs a P45.

Finally – bring back Marc and Lard. Nothing before or after has ever come close to this partnership of pure genius.

I digress….

I finally escape the torture of listening to ‘you know who’ after exiting the car at Heathrow. I’m here to catch my flight to Newcastle where I am playing tonight for Detox. As I walk into the vast check in area of the new terminal 5 building a voice on the loudspeaker system tells all passengers “….register your details online at www.ba.com and U2 could benefit a host of offers….”

I see no reason why Bono and chums should be allowed to be allowed to benefit from my details? Surely they can afford to pay for their own flights? Surely I’m the one who ought to get the bloody offers? Honestly, the nerve of some people.

I check in and grab a pot of green tea in the departures lounge before boarding the short flight to Newcastle.

In the queue onto the plane I am behind a man who looks like something out of a 70s gay rights rally. Jeans and white t-shirt so tight that his head and neck look like the last ball of toothpaste being squeezed out of the tube. Mirrored aviator shades and a handlebar moustache that droops down from each side of his mouth – like the one sported by Paulie Senior from American Chopper. To top it all he has a pink mobile phone – which he is gassing into. I was almost tempted to try and get a photo for you guys but I’m not sure how the request would have gone down.

For the rest of the flight I can’t get “In the Navy” by The Village People out of my head. Thanks mate.

At Newcastle I check into the hotel and chill out before the gig. The event is organised by Detox and is at a secret location – which turns out to be the old film studios where they filmed the 80’s music show “The Tube”….or was it “The Word”? One of the two. Can’t remember.

The night is absolutely wicked. There’s an amazing set up which is a real pleasure to play on and the promoters are very hospitable and cool. I love every second of my set. Great sound system and crowd – who are really up for it – as they always are in Newcastle. I stay for an hour after playing and hang out with a rowdy bunch of Jordies who are up for the crack. Too many shots of Sambuca later and I eventually slip out the back door and crawl back to the hotel.

Wake. Shower. Tea. Check out. Taxi to airport.

I must have looked tired on the way home because the stewardess (who’s fake suntan was nothing short of an incredible advertising opportunity for Tango) offered to move me to a row of 3 seats that were all vacant so I could spread out and get an hour’s sleep. I accepted and instantly passed out only to be woken what seemed like seconds later as we began our decent into London Heathrow.

You only have to look at Clive Owen’s acting or that utterly revolting gelatine that the ruins the inside of every Pork Pie to know that life is full of disappointments. My next gig, in this little cluster of shows around the UK was just that – a disappointment. It was at The London Club in Dundee – Scotland. I don’t know what it is about this club, but I can say I won’t be going there again. The first time I played here was with Simon Patterson and it was average, then the second time I played there with John O’Callaghan was really shit with hardly anyone there. Tonight marginally better, but it’s still a disappointment. There’s probably only 100 people here in total. It’s a shame because as a venue it’s pretty cool and the promoters and club owners are all really nice. The promoters who picked me up from the airport were so very friendly, organised and professional and the warm up dj Jamie Drummond was super talented and a great guy to hang out with, but I can’t lie to the readers of this blog. I won’t ever do that. What I did enjoy was the banter in the car to and from the airport. That was most enjoyable. I can’t remember everything that was discussed but I do recall us talking about the pros and cons of making snooker a full contact sport.

I really hope if those guys keep putting on parties that they have more success in the future – with all the hard work they put in they deserve it. Maybe they should try a different venue that is a slightly closer to home?

Next up – Digital Society in Leeds.

Tyas, Activa, James from Fresh and I met for drinks and dinner at the Hotel before heading to the club. On arrival the Duderstadt brothers were warming things up nicely in the main room. The night was amazing and the vibe electric as usual. There was a real charged energy in the air that its hard to put into words. I have said this time and time again – DS is the best club night in the UK right now. It’s small, it’s dark and it’s dirty. Yes, yes and yes. There seemed to be a bit of an issue with the sound system on the night – with the top end being almost non existent (high hats and other high pitched sounds not cutting through) But still it was kicking and I loved my set. My recently finished remix of John O’Callaghan’s “Don’t Look Back” sounded tight and the crowd reaction was amazing. There was also a positive roar back during the debut airing of my new single “Bad Apple” which sounded great. After my set the intoxicating lure of the club and heady atmosphere was proving tough to resist – especially with so many mates in attendance and all of them shit faced. I met up with some super cool guys that I met last year at Syndicate and then again at Gods and wish I could have spent more time with them but its my son’s birthday in the morning – so I leave pretty promptly, heading back at the hotel to crash for a few hours before showering and hitting the road for home.

Next I’m off to Belfast for a mate’s night I haven’t played before – called Dirty Secret. On the way to the airport a guy in a massive silver Lexus drives right up behind me and starts flashing his lights again and again. His “friendly” way of asking me to move over is a tad intimidating – especially as the inside lane is busy and there’s no immediate room to get out of his way. He continues to flash his lights and also adds a couple of beeps on the horn – and when I say he is driving close – this fucker is sticking to me like a randy shower curtain. Immediately irritated I employ a delicious technique taught to me by my old friend Bill (from “Bill Goes Nuts” on my first album). I put my screen wash on and hold it. There’s about 2 minutes of continual stream before it reaches empty. Works every time. He backs away and I am allowed the space to move out of the fast lane in safety without being harassed. As he passes me we exchange hand gestures – two fingers for him and just the one from me. Job done.

In Belfast I meet my old mate Mark, one of his mates and his sister – who has been roped into driving for the afternoon. They take me to the amazing Stormont Hotel – which overlooks the famous Government buildings that I had previously only ever seen on the news. It’s a magnificent building perched on top of the hill with a long driveway leading up to it. Stupidly I forgot my camera – again.

The gig is pretty good but it only really starts kicking off at 12.45 and then the club owner decides he wants to shut the club half an hour early at 1am. I offer to give back some of my wages if he lets me play on another 30 mins but he ain’t up for bargaining.

How can we live in an age where a club can get away with closing at 1am. Why do we tolerate this? In most countries inn Europe people don’t even go out to diner till 11pm or midnight. It’s a bloody joke. The government talk about problems with binge drinking and yet they shut a fucking nightclub at 1am? Don’t they understand that this will only encourage people to drink twice as frantically – because they’re working to a tight time limit. It’s absurd and we shouldn’t stand for it.

Another thing we shouldn’t tolerate is some of the things being passed of as |”art”/ What on earth are you ranting about now John?

There is a popular Gallery in London called The Rokeby. They had an exhibition called – “Fusion now! More light, More Power, More People”. The curator JJ Charlesworth described the exhibition as being “what art and society would be like if we thought positively about a world based on more energy, not less”.

Ok, that seems reasonable enough – until you learn that the sculptor Roger Hiorns’s contribution to the exhibition is a huge light bulb (that uses lots of power to light it up) covered in his semen. He does this to emphasise its image of joyous waste.

That’s right, you read it correctly – this so called artist was paid to have a toss on a light bulb for a high profile exhibition in a London art gallery. It’s debatable what constitutes art – Damien Hirst cutting a shark or cow into several sections is one thing, but paying money to go into a gallery to see a light bulb covered in jizz is another.

Extended hand with red card and short sharp blast on the whistle for you Roger Hiorns – you are one sick puppy.

You keep bloody side tracking me….

Is there a polite way to eat spaghetti? Surely a man who orders spaghetti from the menu on his first date is either brave or stupid?

No, that’s not it.

Ah yes, Dublin. After a weekend off to go to Glastonbury (hideously messy) – I fly to Ireland to play The Vaults. On arrival at the airport in Ireland I check my itinerary to see if I was being picked up. The instructions read “please take shuttle bus to hotel which is a few miles away from the airport”. I asked at the information desk where the shuttle bus went from. “There isn’t a shuttle bus sir”. No problem – I’ll grab a taxi instead.

At the taxi rank I get ushered towards a car at the front of the queue and jump in the front. “Travel Lodge at The Swords roundabout please” I say. The response is nothing short of shocking. The driver slams his fists into his steering wheel and screams “for fuck’s sake!!” at the top of his voice. His face has turned a bright vivid red. I ask him is there is a problem and he turns to me and blasts “yes there’s a fucking problem”!! with spit literally popping out of his twisted little bulldog of a face like a volcano’s teasing pre-cum jettisons before the full eruption kicks off. To cut a long story short I later found out that Dublin has far too many taxi drivers and they literally have to fight to get any work at all – so here I was dealing with an angry little monster who had been hoping to pick up a 300 Euro fare out into the Irish countryside but instead got me – a 10 euro round the corner local run. To begin with I was pretty taken back and a bit intimidated. I offered to get out of the taxi and walk. “It’s too fucking late now”!! he screamed while slamming his fist twice into the centre of the steering wheel which accidentally sounded his horn – making him more cross.

By now I was getting pretty pissed off myself. On reflection, if there really is that much competition in the Taxi business in Dublin surely he should at least try to make the experience of travelling in his car as pleasant as possible in the hope that he might attract some passengers to use him again. As opposed to behaving like a complete and utter arsehole with a view that everyone owes him a living.

We get to the hotel. He says “9 euros 50” from the corner of his snarling mouth. I only have a 50 euro note and offer it to him. “I don’t have any fucking change!” he literally barks. I try and keep cool and say I’ll go and get change from reception. He says “leave you bag in the car”. I say “absolutely not” and take my bag with me. The hotel receptionist gives me 5 ten euro notes in exchange for my 50. I walk back to the car and throw ten euros at the beetroot and turn to walk away. The grubby little creature leaps out of his car saying “it’s ten euros 50 now you cunt since you made me wait”! I turn and walk right up to his face till our noses are almost touching. I recite his full name and taxi registration number (which I memorised on the drive from the airport) and ask him if he wants me to include this latest gesture of aggression in the complaint I am about to write to his bosses? If I had put a match to him at that moment he would have rocketed off into the stratosphere. Hi beetroot face was now going into overdrive – a bright red chilli fit to burst – steam billowing out from between the thick black hairs covering the exit holes n each ear. “Now take the ten euros I have given you, get back in your car and go and abuse someone else before I upgrade my complaint to the police”! I say – trying to remain as calm as I can, but in reality shitting myself in the expectancy of an imminent punch up.

It’s 50/50 whether he’s going to punch me or otherwise spontaneously combust. In the end he turns on his heels and as he marches back round to the drivers side of the car he kicks a waste paper bin with huge force. I think he thought the bin was made of plastic. It was metal. He tried to hide it, but I saw the pain in his eye. A broken toe or two if we’re lucky?

When I walk into the hotel they haven’t got any record of my booking. Oh Jesus, is this turning into one of those days? I call the promoter and explain my situation. He says there is someone at the airport waiting to pick me up. Brilliant – the whole episode with Steptoe and son could have been avoided. The guy from the airport comes and sorts out the hotel and I get a few hours to chill and calm down after my run in with Beetroot face.

Later at the club I hang out with Jordan Suckley, Gary Maguire, and Paul Webster. We talk shit over a couple of beers. The gig is ok. Not mind blowing but still not bad. I don’t think much of my set which is at best average. After I’ve played I catch up with Spencer and Bryan Kearney who have come down. The potential for this to turn into a 3 day bender is there lurking. Can’t. I’m a dad now.

Eventually I leave and head back to the hotel in a taxi with a driver who was luckily nothing like Beetroot face but instead a real pleasure to talk to. We discuss my incident earlier on at the airport and he is shocked and embarrassed. He gives me the number I need to call to make a complaint. After that we talk about football and gardening. I don’t know anything about either topic but I pretend I do with enthusiasm.

At Dublin Airport I eat half a disgusting fry up that I swear was made yesterday. Congealed, oily eggs with uncooked bacon, tired hash browns that fall apart and dubious looking white and black pudding which both remain untouched on the side of the plate. Nice one. With my stomach crying out for help I bin the food and go to buy something to read on the plane. I scan the magazines for something easy that doesn’t require any brain-power. I usually stay well away from Dance Music press and after a quick leaf through the latest edition of Mixmag I am reminded why. Does anyone actually buy this horseshit any longer? In the end I opt for the latest Viz. Proper literature.

Back in England I drive home and have a BBQ with my family before hitting the road again in the early evening – this time bound for Slinky in Bournemouth. On arrival at the club I meet Fabio Stein and my old friend Dav Gomrass who is rocking the decks and setting up the crowd perfectly. The gig is brilliant. I love the sweaty intimate vibe in this place and enjoy my set enormously. It’s banging as fuck in here.

Back in the car my ears are ringing like hell after the long weekend of aural abuse. At 5am I fall into bed – totally spent. The following day I have the house to myself and watch the men’s final at Wimbledon. Amazing on the edge of your seat stuff washed down with roughly 20 cups of horribly strong coffee.

Next up gigs at the new Escape club in Swansea Ministry of Sound in London and my US tour.

Until next time…..

Don’t forget to tune in to my radio show – details how are on the radio page at www.djjohnaskew.com

Laters

JA

Ps: after finishing writing this blog I found out that BBC have made substantial changes to their Radio One line up with Jo Wiley and Edith Bowman’s shows being axed. Gutted about Wiley. Celebrating over Bowman. Wondering why Cox wasn’t on the list?

Pps: Chris keeps urging me to use my blog a bit more to plug my music. So here goes – buy my new tunes fuckers.

Ahhh Detox Tyne Tees Studios... shame it's now a flat pile of rubble on City Road.

I dunno where to start with all that, immense crack

US Tour July 2010
Giving the impression I'm a man doing work I sit in the far corner of Gordon Ramsey's restaurant "Plane Food" at Heathrow's terminal 5 and watch a young Jet Li ass in a low budget martial arts movie while drinking tea and eating my favourite thing on the menu - truly delicious fish cakes.

I'm in a good mood. I'm on my way to Chicago for the first time in my life - which is really exciting considering what a huge part the city played in the birth and subsequent history of electronic music. I'm playing at Vision tomorrow night - the first date in my mini US tour which will also take me to San Francisco for the first time before ending at the legendary Rain in Vegas where I'll be playing with Paul Oakenfold on Independence day weekend. I also just delivered my second single for JOC's Subculture label earlier n the day and was thrilled when John said he loved it. I hope the Subculture fans like it too. The track is called "To the Floor" and I'll be adding a little sample to my home page in the next few weeks so check it out. Release date is mid September - cat number SUB 011.

On the flight I watch ‘The Book of Eli' - a gritty, post apocalyptic film staring Denzel Washington and Gary Oldman. I think it might be a good film but I can't be sure as the movie is shot using such little light which at the cinema may have been an effective sinister scene setter but on a 5 inch screen…. If it wasn't for the audio I might as well have been looking at a black screen.

The BA stewardess serving is moody and old which pisses me off. I literally hate flying with BA now. Shit food, shit seats and shit service given by lousy staff that always strike - the greedy cocks. On top of that BA have a knack for hosting a consistently shit film selection that are today being shown on their prehistoric system where you have to wait for a film to finish and restart before you can watch it. For the love of god - any long haul carrier in this day and age that does not have an on-demand system deserves to be taken out of service or at the very least beaten about the legs with a very large stick. The fact that it is BA is an embarrassment to our great nation. "The World's Favourite Airline" - according to who?? How fucking dare you use that line as your slogan. There was a time when I loved flying with BA. After a long trip abroad, when you're homesick and desperate to be back in the UK boarding the homeward flight with British Airways felt like you were half way there. No longer though. I now just feel the same anxiety and stress that was previously reserved for flights with outrageously poor carriers such as Airfrance or Aeroflot or American Airlines - all of which are appalling and should be avoided at all costs.

On arrival into O'Hare airport I meet up with Lynn from Vision and we get driven to the city in a black Lincoln by an equally cool driver called Nick who is more than happy to weave in and out of the hard shoulder like a mad man to try and avoid the shockingly poor traffic (apparently due to the Taste of Chicago Food Festival which, as it does annually, has taken over the city for the weekend).

I'm now sitting in my hotel room in Chicago. It's 4am. I got to the hotel I guess around 4 in the afternoon and was intending on doing some work but after a meal and half an hour watching World Cup updates on ESPN I drifted off. I've been up for an hour now - downloading new music while watching a documentary on youtube about Gibraltar. I'm wide-awake. Jet lag. There's an incredibly loud and dramatic lightning and thunderstorm going on outside my window - which intermittently illuminates and shakes the whole of my 20th floor room - a room that was previously only lit by the dull glow from my laptop screen. Looking out across the Chicago skyline, which during each flash of light is perfectly silhouetted against the angry sky behind it, I feel annoyed that I forgot my camera once again. This was a really cool show to watch. Nice work God.

In the afternoon I watched Korea vs. Uruguay. An amazingly fast game with some seriously classy football. It really made the first few England performances of the tournament seem tired, clumsy and generally substandard. Embarrassing.

Went for dinner before the gig and was lucky to experience a true Chicago classic - a 35 day aged Steak - on the bone, rare and the size of a small car. A truly delicious meal washed down with a bottle of Cloudy Bay. Like the wine the conversation flowed freely and was varied but eventually focused on US politics, the foreign policies of the Bush administration and the hopes and aspirations attached to Obama et al. An interesting discussion on a topic I enjoy talking about.

After dinner I went back to the hotel for 2 hours sleep before heading to the club.

Vision is based at an enormous multi room venue that really reminds me of Turnmills in London. So many different rooms, so many nooks and crannies. A seedy grotto. A den of iniquity. My kind of place. Although I ended up playing a lighter set than I usually do, keeping the bpms around 130 to 135 - I love every second of the gig and was sad to have to bring it to an end.

This was a drinking crowd so 142 hammers and nails would have resulted in an empty dancefloor.

I don't condone drug use but I'm also not going to lie to you and say I don't like playing to a crowd who have their energy levels "topped up". This is the first time I have heard my remix of "The Fall" as well as my new Subculture single on a big club rig and they both sound really tight. I'm so excited about those releases and only wish they were out now.

My booze free evening was going well. Only a brace of sambuca shots, a few beers and the wine at dinner stood in the way of a clean strike. Still I nail a litre of water before we leave the venue in anticipation for the morning after. The older I get the more intense my hang-overs become. The only counter that works is drinking as much water as is humanly possible before passing out. Easier said than done when you're a bit tipsy. Luckily I'm only lightly shaded this evening so I down several small bottles of water and then, after a brief tour of the entire venue I get walked 2 blocks back to the hotel.

I crash at around 6am, setting an alarm to wake me for the England / Germany game at 9.

To be honest wish I hadn't.

What a fucking joke. Even with the disallowed goal due to this ongoing ludicrous decision to not have video replays for exactly these instances England's defence, passion and patriotism was nothing short of a joke. An absolute disgrace infact. The Germans on the other hand played with finesse and style. They deserved to win. Hat's off to you.

But still - 4 / 1.

4 fucking 1!!!!

And while all those poor England fans who have spent huge sums travelling to South Africa now have to face the prospect of an early trip home our players will simply go back to their 5 star hotel, after the obligatory clip round the ear from Fabio, for a massage and a beer before getting their first class flights home - where they will settle back into their millionaire lives with no accountability, no shame and no consequence. Disgusting. Again - bring out the big stick!

Later I watched Argentina give Mexico a good run around. Like the Uruguay this is liquid football played with such pace and precision. Watching the passion and the bond that clearly exists between the Argentinean team and their manager Maradona it only makes me feel more ashamed of my country's squad. Maybe we shouldn't keep expecting so much from them though. Maybe we're just shit. There's no maybe about it John - you've just seen 4 England games in the last few weeks in those only a total of maybe 30 minutes represented world class football. What a fucking disaster.

I wanted to describe to you the meal that British Airways served on the flight back to the UK but I'm not entirely sure I can. Let's just say I knew I was taking my life into my hands by allowing this disastrous substance pass my lips. Was it beef? Or Chicken? Or maybe even Cheese? Strange lumps of something offensive doused in a brown equally offensive something else. Within minutes my stomach had moved to defcon 3. It was going to have to be all hands on deck to process this shit. I watched a film about the life of John Lennon which was great except for the fact I fell asleep and missed the ending. That's ok John - just start the film again and fast forward to where you left off. Oh fuck - I forgot - you can't do that can you - you're flying with British cocking Airways. If you want to see the ending you're going to need to a) wait for the film to start again and b) when it has - watch the whole fucking thing over. Nice one - enjoy yourself.

The following Friday I'm back at Heathrow - this time terminal 3 - to catch my Virgin flight to San Francisco. Thank god I'm flying Virgin and not BA. With the flight time expected to be around 10 hours the last thing I want is an entertainment system that was out of date during the Crimean War let alone the 21st century. At the airport I see all the members of the Prodigy at the posh Champagne and Smoked Salmon bar situated next to TGI Friday in Terminal 3. Keith Flint is wearing a dark blue suit jacket and traditional English gentleman's straw hat, which amuses me - such a dramatic contrast from the eye liner and tattoo covered mentalist that'll be charging up and down the stage later on.

I spend ages in HMV trying to find a few discounted dvds for the collection but it's the usual problem. The films I know I've seen and in most cases own. The titles I don't know I don't know so I don't know if they are any good. In the end on my 3rd round of the aisles I settle for a travel documentary with Billy Connerly and the film "It Might Get Loud" - another documentary about 3 legendary guitarists (The Edge, Jack Black and Jimmy Page) getting together for a mega jam.

On the flight I'm pleased to see Virgin have well and truly got their shit together. The service is on the money and so is the selection of films. I watch Green Zone with Matt Damon, Wolfman with Anothony Hopkins and another great film with the skinny guy from Superbad - I can't remember the title. I also watch a bunch of old episodes of The Inbetweeners and Peepshow. I never tire of either of those shows - regardless of how many times I watch them. If it weren't for the pungent odour coming from the rouge drunk to my right it would have been a perfect flight.

At San Fransico airport I go through security in under 20 minutes and and am met by Rey the promoter. He is a cool guy with similar tastes in music to me. I'm pleased to hear from him that the crowd who attend his events tend to like it hard. Really hard. Which is music to my ears because it's not often the case in the US. The drive to the hotel takes us past the San Francisco bay area which looks really pretty in the bright sunshine. I wish I had time to see Alcatraz while I'm here - but sadly I do not.

On arrival at the Adagio hotel near Union Square I check in and when I get to my room instantly pass out. A few hours later I am woken by the phone. Rey's downstairs waiting for me. Half asleep I struggle to communicate and almost pull a whitey but Rey kicks my ass into gear and I shower and head down. Driving through the colourful streets with a plethora of interesting looking boutique shops and delicious restaurants I fall in love with the vibe of the city. It feels a little like Brighton. A distinctly hippy feel to the place with all kinds of weird and wonderful looking characters hanging out on street corners - enjoying the last of the afternoon sun. Cha Cha Cha - the restaurant we were planning on going to is heavily over booked and as we wade our way through the crowd to the bar only to find loads more people tucked round the corner waiting for tables we look at eachother and decide to bale. In the end we find a very bohemian looking Middle Eastern restaurant, which I think was advertised as being of Syrian origin. I'm a huge fan of the region's cuisine so the choice is well received by me. We are supposed to be meeting John 00 Fleming for dinner - who is playing tomorrow at the same venue I am playing tonight - but when we get to the table Rey realises his phone has no reception and so there is no way of relaying the message that we are now at a different eatery. While Rey heads back out into the street to try and guide John to us I order a selection of small dishes for us to share and a brace of Coronas. It's good to catch up with John who arrives sporting a really thick dark beard. It suits him. We talk music, production and San Francisco real estate prices. Being a Brighton resident himself John agrees with my comparison. At the end of the meal one of the bar ladies gets on the mic to introduce the evening's entertainment and out comes a pretty ropey looking belly dancer. She sets up camp right in the path between us and the exit so - not wanting to appear rude we watch her wobbling midriff for the duration of the first song and then, furiously clapping as we do so, make a run for the door.

Back at the hotel I get a much needed 2 hour sleep before the club. Jetlag catching up with me now. Dark rings under my eyes are now almost purple. At midnight my alarm kicks me out of bed and I shower once again. Rey's girlfriend - also a dj - is downstairs with another friend waiting to drive me to tonight's venue - 1015.

Inside JOOP is on the decks playing a chucky mix of trademark Dutch sounding tracks which the crowd are enjoying. The vibe is good and I look forward to smashing the faces off each and every one of these fuckers. Rey keeps my glass filled with Grey Gose and cranberry - insisting that I drink as much as I can because at 2am the booze stops and there won't be any more. Jesus those kinds of rules and regulations are just so outdated.

I really enjoy my set - playing a mix of hard as fuck techno, melodic trance and a few house tracks sped up to plus 8. I end with a cool bootleg of Michael Jackson's thriller. I give a bunch of merchandise away and spend some time after the end talking to a group of cool characters - including the guys behind the Vandit act Reverse - before heading back to the hotel for a final few hours kip before the big push to Vegas.

Back at the hotel I try hard to go to sleep but the jetlag has me wide awake now and every time I try to clear my head which is working in overdrive I fail and end up running through the endless lists of DIY jobs I still need to complete at home, the calls I need to make next week when I get back to the office and melody ideas for tracks. I just can not get this shit out of my head and it frustrates me that I can't sleep because of it - ironically so much so that I eventually passed out.

At 7 I wake and turn on the Germany vs Argentina game. Would you believe it - yet another 4 goal thrashing by the Germans. My god this team is on fire. They have given Australia, England and now Argentina four goal beatings and poor old Maradona looks heart broken each time his men concede another goal. The German team are just unstoppable. They're tight as hell on the attack and unlike so many other teams I have witnesses in this world cup they are playing as a team, a well oiled unit, as opposed to a group of individually talented players operating along side eachother. I think I've worked out one of the main problems with the England team. In the UK - club comes before country. It shouldn't be that way but it is - after all pride and patriotism are all very well but they don't buy you flash cars or yachts in the med. Roy Keane's thoughts on the UK team going out of the tournament could not be more spot on - if you missed them - watch this...

[ame="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lWShjpiX8lc"]YouTube- ‪Roy keane on England world cup exit‬‎[/ame]

At 9 I'm picked up and driven back to the Airport. I'm genuinely sad to be leaving this beautiful and interesting looking city and only hope I can come back one day - maybe with my family - to explore it a little more. I want to know San Francisco. I want to get inside it - to properly experience and understand its source - its heartbeat.

At the airport I check in, go through and find a nice bar by the gate where I have an omelette and a beer. I find it interesting that the staff of the bar ID everyone - and when I say everyone I mean everyone. I know it's pretty standard policy in the US but in the case of an old couple who must have been at least 85 years old I find it incredible that this time wasting procedure is still in place. The legal age for drinking is 21 and here is a woman asking for ID from a pair of grey, bent double, barely able to walk fossils who were probably both in their 40's when this middle age waitress was still a dormant globule of spunk in her fathers nuts. Incredible.

Thankfully the flight to Vegas is brief and before I know it I'm in the baggage claim lounge of Vegas airport where I meet with my old pal Graeme Platt - which has flown over from Scotland to join me for the weekend. The Palms have sent a limo to pick us up and the as we exit the airport with the driver the Vegas heat hits us like a punch in the face. A blazing inferno of heat that causes an instant trickle of sweat to snake it's way down my back. I couldn't live here. Your only option would be to hide behind an army of air condition units - which is no way to live - always breathing air that had been manipulated. At the hotel we ditch our bags and head straight to the MGM grand. We're both hungry and if my memory serves me correctly then I know a nice place to get good Mexican food and a beer at the back of the MGM. The traffic is terrible and the taxi driver informs us that we couldn't have picked a worse day to be going to the MGM as they are hosting the massive UFC 116 championship fight between heavy weights Brock Lesnar and Shane Carwin. I know nothing about these guys - the last time I watched UFC regularly Chuck Liddell was the king. Apparently this is no longer the case and the Lesnar / Carwin fight is as big as it gets. We persevere, eventually opting to walk the last few hundred yards in the sweltering heat and as we pass through the main entrance I'm relived to feel the welcome of industrial air conditioned relief that the MGM lobby brings to my damp brow. In the lobby there is a UFC stand with a long queue of fans waiting to meet some of the fighters who are signing merchandise and posing for photos with fans and fight goers.

After wondering through the MGM for 10 minutes or so we eventually find the rainforest Café which I have had a few great meals in in the past and so we sit down at the bar and enjoy another amazing meal with beers that are so cold the outside of the bottles have a thick layer of ice on them. Several slip down with incredible ease along with our mixed patter of ribs, chicken and other assorted delights.

Perfectly full - we then head off in no particular direction - with the simple intention of just walking and watching the crazy world of Las Vegas go about it's business. As we enter the New York New York we decide our meal has subsided enough to have a quick go on the Rollercoaster - which I have been on once before when I was last here with my brother. I remember thinking it was terrifying but our most recent taxi driver assured us it was "for pussies" and that if we really wanted an adrenaline rush we needed to head for the top of the stratosphere tower. As I disembark the ride - knuckles and face both white as snow - I conclude I must be a pussy and therefore opt out of the suggested idea to go to the stratosphere and up the stakes. For now anyway...

We head back to our room at the Palms and get a shower and an hour's sleep. I've been invited to dinner with Mr Oakenfold and so when the alarm goes off I peel myself off the incredibly comfortable bed, shower once again and then head for Nove - a high end Italian restaurant in a secluded corner of one of the Palms towers. I meet Paul at the bar and we are immediately led to our table. As Paul has held a weekly residency here at the Palms' famous nightclub Rain for nearly 2 years he is royalty everywhere in the hotel and here in the exclusive Nove restaurant is no exception. A flurry of management, waiters, wine specialists and fans fuss around us and shortly thereafter we are indulging in a feast of seafood, pasta and incredibly delicious red wine. Paul is a pleasure to spend time with and the conversation is free flowing. Towards the end Sol - an old friend who is behind the organisation of Paul's night at Rain and Lance another dear friend of mine from LA come and join us. We end the meal by sharing two plates of carpaccio of strawberry and iced cappuccino shots (I might have that wrong but whatever it was we toasted and drank it like shots and it tasted like coffee with a hint of booze). Dj Pauly D - the famous MTV presenter was also in the restaurant celebrating his birthday with a big entourage.

At the club Blake Jarrell has the dancefloor packed and going nuts. He's another nice guy who I met for the first time last week at Vision in Chicago. At half 12 Paul comes into the booth and the club staff busy around him ensuring everything (speakers, drinks etc etc) is set up to his exact specifications. Paul takes to the decks and after a big dramatic intro the 3000 strong crowd show their respect with a big roar and we're off. A rocking two hours of solid trance, progressive and house. Paul points out several tracks that are clubbier mixes of numbers taken from his artist album. They sounds great and the crowd responds accordingly. Shots are drank during several toasts.

I take over from Paul at half past 2 and really enjoy the next hour and a half of what essentially becomes a set of mainly my productions or remixes of my tracks - taken from the recent rediscovered album. For the last 15 minutes I take it down a bit to a solid groove - playing a few Arty tracks which go down well.

After the club shuts a we head to an after hours session with a bunch of crazy Australians who are on a US tour. It gets pretty messy. Eventually everyone gets their beach gear on and heads for the massive Palms pool party where Markus Schulz and Cosmic Gate are playing. When we get there I'm refused entry on the grounds I'm still in jeans and t shirt - having not changed since the club. While everyone else heads to the pool I go and grab a final beer at a nearby bar - soon after being joined by Graeme who ditched the pool party to find me. After a funny conversation with a couple of local characters who have clearly been up all night and are in a similar frame of mind to us - we go back to the room and pass out - sleeping for a god 8 hours. At 11pm we go out and get a steak - and then head back to the room with the intention of watching the new Sherlock Holmes film on the inroom on demand system - but 20 minutes in we're both sound asleep.

In the morning I do a bit of work - answering a bunch of urgent emails and then we take a cab to the diner in the Hard Rock - which in my view does the best breakfast in all of Vegas. They don't disappoint and we eat ourselves silly on bacon, French toast, poached eggs and delicious fresh coffee.

It's then decided that the time is right to take on the rides at the top of the Stratosphere Tower.

At 1149 feet - The Stratosphere Tower is the tallest building in Vegas and the 5th tallest in all of the United States. Now picture 3 rides at the very top of this tower (the 3 highest rides in the world) that are not only breathtakingly scary I their own right - but also that you are so far up above the ground that you shit yourself twice as hard. We sit at the top of the tower for a couple of hours talking - waiting for the breakfast to go down enough before we take on 2 of the 3 rides.

[ame="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stratosphere_Las_Vegas"]Stratosphere Las Vegas - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia@@AMEPARAM@@/wiki/File:Stratosphere-LV-Logo.svg" class="image" title="Casino logo"><img alt="" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/b/bd/Stratosphere-LV-Logo.svg/200px-Stratosphere-LV-Logo.svg.png"@@AMEPARAM@@en/thumb/b/bd/Stratosphere-LV-Logo.svg/200px-Stratosphere-LV-Logo.svg.png[/ame]

Eventually Graeme tells me to stop being such a pussy and to get the fuck on with it. We go out and first go on the Insanity. It's terrifying but then we go on a ride, which can only be described as borderline illegal. Click on the link above and when you see the picture n the right hand side of the page of the tower you will notice a needle at the top of the tower pointing up into the sky. Now picture being on a seat that is part of a row of seats attached to that needle. And then picture yourself suddenly being blasted up at 72 KM/PH at 4gs to the top of that needle - before then being dropped back down - even faster. Jesus Christ - if ever you're in Vegas and you want a way to wake up/rid yourself of a hangover…..

Until next time ladies and gents... This is John Askew signing out.

Top stuff

Another quality read! Gets better every time

That San Francisco/Vegas weekend sounds ridiculous!! Must be nice eh?

Another small piece!

Decent interview with some canny banter towards the end...

(Nov 2010) Subculture interviews John Askew – pre Boxing day in Dublin
First off, we know you're sick of the usual interviews - so let's try make it different. How's 2010 been?

It's been a good year that started with the birth of my second child so I will always remember it for that. I'm devastated the Summer is over (sitting here writing this in the office with two jumpers on and feet that need defrosting) but then again Halloween & Bonfire night were both amazing and when you have kids Christmas becomes really special again so onwards and upwards.

We're loving your Skylab CD, tell us about that.

Well that's most kind of you to say. Skylab was originally the title of an old single of mine on Discover. I loved the name and so dug it up for use on this – a new series of studio mix albums. I'll do one Skylab album per year from here on. There's no particular concept to it – it's just 45 or so tracks that I liked at the time of compiling the mix - ripped apart, edited to fuck and re-arranged in a fashion that I find pleasing to the ear. I only hope the listener concurs. This first one has stacks of great material from a bunch of my favourite producers and remixers and I think it reflects the kind of sound and style I like to play at gigs.
Fking Caps Lock did great on Subculture this year. Any more quirky titles?
Did it?? Well that's again very nice to hear so thank you. I think with the supposed downturn in popularity of banging 140 trance and techno which I think came about for a number of reasons (A list djs in the scene seeing they can get more success if the play more and more commercial sounds + quality of drugs going down and therefore making dancing to heavy fast stuff for 8 hours much harder to cope with) it's interesting to see how many producers, who were previously passionate about, and well known for, this kind of banging music sever all ties and move onto things that have a wider commercial appeal in the hope that it will better their chances to enter the dj mag top 100. There is a new generation of producer/dj who's number 1 priority, ahead of the music, is "competing" and "being better than" his contemporaries / piers. Don't get me wrong if I was in the top 100 I would be really pleased and most grateful but I have always distanced myself from it completely and will continue to do so in the future. The prospect of spending great chunks of my time which is already overstretched campaigning with "vote for me I'm amazing" e-flyers makes me feel uncomfortable. I just can't do it – much to the frustration of my management. I envy those that can!!

(let's be clear on something though - I do think I'm amazing - ;0))

I also can't criticise the change in music styles in order to generate more success too much though. I get it. People have to make a living and so if something ain't paying the bills you adapt and change...... It's just that this approach doesn't work for me personally. I will always make the music I love regardless of how unpopular it is, how underground it becomes or how few clubs put on nights with that sound. I'm just grateful that for the time being there are labels like Subculture to release tracks like Fucking Caps lock on and djs like JOC, Tyas and Patterson who support the sounds I like to make. A tip of the hat to all of you!
Do you ever get sick of dance music? We know u love metal.
I get sick of the industry and the scene but I don't get sick of the music. The music is why I'm here. Everything else can fuck off. Yes you will always have to wade through a sea of horseshit music by numbers tunes to find the gems but c'est la vie. And to answer your question - yes I love metal – in fact on the last radio show i do this decade (Discover presents episode 28) will have some heavy metal in. Let's see how that goes down with the trance purists who spend hours on forums debating why a certain dj known for playing "uplifting" played a techno record at 43 minutes and 7 seconds into his set at gods last weekend. Get a life you bell ends.

Tell us about your days as resident of Home. Funny stories?

I think you might have me confused with someone else. I have never been resident at Home.

Do you think the industry has strayed from the essence of what dance music was about?

Absolutely. See my rant above. But then again, despite everything I said I do also think – that harder, faster, driving music has never been more popular on the underground illegal rave scene which has had a massive resurgence recently in the UK - just like it did last time there was a recession. With all the doom and gloom people want to go out and get fucked up and have it all night more than ever – and what better place to do it than an illegal party where the entrance is free, the beers are cheap and the vibe is thermo nuclear because the police are just outside knowing that they got there too late to shut it down. The big two fingers to the law.

The clubbing scene is so commercial, so safe, so accepted that a lot of kids who are rebelling against their parents don't want to know. Clubbing is what their parents did/do. So they would rather go to a rock or punk gig where the message from the band who are all fucked up and full of angst that the kids can relate to is "Fuck you I won't do what you tell me". In dance I would rather see a performance that has that kind of Punk attitude from say the Prodigy than that of an A list dj who stands there sipping from his bottle of mineral water while making a heart symbol with his hands to signify how in love he is with his adoring "disciples".

Illegal raves and free parties give back the edge that was once the core focus of the entire scene – and I like that. It's about the music and its about the party.

Favourite film and fav quote?

I can't answer that. That's the kind of question that I would need several weeks of viewing to answer. My memory is non existent and I know if I gave you an answer then in two weeks I would be reminded of the answer I should have given and then I'll be in a bad mood for days.

Shittest flight / trip of the year?

There is one that stands out head and shoulder above the rest but I don't want to tell the story as it makes the promoter of the event look like a cunt – which although in my view he is – I'm sure to others he isn't and so it would be unfair to use my own experience to tarnish his name publicly. But I can tell you now – the experience was so bad I will never travel to / play in that country ever again.
Tell us about the Stella sessions in the Batcave with O'Callaghan.
They were legendary times. The Batcave was my old studio which was in a converted garage. There were no windows so you could be in the for days and not know what time it was. John and I spent extended sessions in there fucking around with all kinds of sounds and making music while drinking copious amounts of Stella. Good times / happy memories!!
What gig made you realize why you love dance music?
Although there are still some gigs which are terrible for one reason or another I would say that luckily they are a minority and so all the gigs that are good to amazing make me love dance music a little more. But the gigs are not the sole reason I love dance music. If you take away the gigs and leave only the music – I will love it just as much. The gigs are a way of massaging your ego by playing the music you have spent days creating in the hope that the fuckers on the Dancefloor get into it as much as you hope they will.

Artists to watch out for?

Gary Maguire, Sly One vs Jurrane, Adam Foley, Des McMahon, Vol Deeman, ATM, indecent Noise, Angry Man, Driving Force, Med vs Neil Bamford, Ian Booth, Th3shold, Matt Skyer.......

What makes a bad tune?

Predictability,unoriginality lack of attention to detail. I'm not normally a fan of most of the really "uplifting" styled tracks I get sent. My god if I have a pound for every track I get sent that is a poor imitation of the sound Above & Beyond make I wouldn't need to leave my sofa ever again. Above & Beyond's productions are truly amazing – both in production quality and song construction / arrangement. They are geniuses making music that sits perfectly on the fence between commercial trance and full on pop music. I have known those guys as friends since they very first started putting out records and I think they deserve all of the successes they achieve – as they have come on the back of a decade of seriously hard work coupled with a strong dedication and charisma. But sadly their success and stature has bread a million copycat producers who attempt to copy their style but don't quite manage it – and my bastard inbox is full of it. Look, I love melody as much as the next man, but 2 minute breakdowns with endless piano masturbation – designed so that the dj playing them has enough time to gorge on the glow from the crowd created from his arms outstretched "Jesus on the Cross" pose.......Come on....give me a fucking break will you. I'm here to dance not fanny around like a flower blowing in the wind. When I go out I don't want to be "uplifted" – I want to be mercilessly violated so I leave the club crippled and covered in bruises.

Dec 26th u return to Dublin where you have a strong fan base who love your hard edge sets and honest views.
What do you have to say to them?

Mine's a Guinness.

Look, I love melody as much as the next man, but 2 minute breakdowns with endless piano masturbation – designed so that the dj playing them has enough time to gorge on the glow from the crowd created from his arms outstretched "Jesus on the Cross" pose.......Come on....give me a fucking break will you. I'm here to dance not fanny around like a flower blowing in the wind. When I go out I don't want to be "uplifted" – I want to be mercilessly violated so I leave the club crippled and covered in bruises.



Amen.

trance purists? he's going a bit cynical. trance has always had 2 min piano breakdowns - it's like someone saying "hardhouse FFS, too many hoovers"

Looks like Skylab will be the first cd I buy in a while too. Can't 'acquire' the fucker anywhere.

^ HAHA. Askew seems to be shit hot with stuff like that.

Another cracking interview from the legend that is Mr Askew!!

http://www.inthemix.com.au/features/50909/John_Askew_Straight_from_the_vipers_nest

''Finally, what can we expect from your sets on the Godskitchen tour later this year?


A good hard kick in the tits.''

Can you repost it here? I cant access that site from this PC

I love this bloke.

Agree strongly with the comments about the 'heart' shit also.