Wu Lyf have spent the past year convincing a constantly swelling group of fans that they’re to be worshipped with the same intensity that they create in their live shows. It turned out, though, that they’re as disinterested in religion as their name (LYF = Lucifer Youth Foundation) suggests; their stage is crowned by a large black cross which, as my devout Christian friend informs me, is not entirely traditional. And this is after being branded with their logo upon entrance, which can only be described as a thoroughly bastardised cross, presumably designed to make you feel like you’re being inducted into a pagan cult. Pope Benedict would not be pleased.

But it’s unclear whether Wu Lyf are actually interested in having anyone join the cult of personality that they have created with their studied silence (which was broken in The Stool Pigeon’s current issue), anti-A&R antics and grandiose ideological statements. It almost feels like they’re more concerned with the group of friends who stud the audience tonight, who howl and chant along while exchanging amused looks with the band, as if those who have handed over cash are the unfortunate victims of an enormously successful in-joke.

It would be tough to describe any member of Wu Lyf’s audience as unfortunate, though. You can line the front row with as many self-consciously smirking faces as you like, but you can’t change the noise that comes out of Wu Lyf’s speakers. Apart from if you throw a plastic cup at them. Then they will tell you to fuck off, on tonight’s evidence.

But when they’re not threatening the crowd (and to be threatened by Wu Lyf is actually fairly menacing as they would surely fare well in a Most Likely To Murder Own Audience poll), those four lads from Manchester do make the most intense, cathartic noise, and given that they’ve literally just released their debut album, they’re clearly very gifted musicians, whatever the media circus around them has to say about their allegedly unconvincing philosophies. From dramatic opener “L Y F” inwards, they sound emphatically not like the still-embryonic project that they are, pounding out emotion-laced proclamations that you’d normally only expect after the obligatory first two albums of average indie dirge.

The difference in Wu Lyf lies in the lungs of lead singer Ellery Roberts, who has the unenviable gift of a voice that hoarsely writhes like it has experienced every wrong that the world has to offer. He’s also immensely gifted in the lyrics department, and although they’re almost indecipherable in his throaty howls, he projects them with a fixating seriousness. There’s also the useful lo-fi-pagan-karaoke of the recent video for “Dirt” if you’re still unconvinced.

You would think that that is enough individual brilliance for one band, but drummer Joe Manning also octopusses his way around the drum kit with intimidating dexterity, his fixation both with the floor tom and hitting round objects very hard lending Wu Lyf’s sound much of its muscle. Coupled with Ellery’s spine-curling voice, it’s not hard to see why the Kazimier is surprisingly packed given that Liverpool club-night Evol has herded most of Liverpool’s music obsessives into St George’s Hall with Outfit and Ladytron. Understandably.

But the Kazimier is heaving with tidily-Topmanned young men* because Wu Lyf have managed, through isolation, paranoia, expressive imagery and scarily powerful songs to connect with young people in a significant way that only Odd Future can argue to have equalled recently. And though their live show may not be the (un)religious experience some have billed it as, they deliver their chest-pounding anthems with a fervour that is completely compelling. They may not be interested in anybody joining their non-existent cult, but pretty soon they’re going to have people queuing up. Just not the Pope. Or Dr Rowan Williams. But pretty much everybody else.

Wu Lyf – Dirt by Not Many Experts

*and some women. We’re not fans of sexism, but it was a fairly testosteroney affair to be honest.

Tall Ships provided the heartbreaking moment of the festival and even were single-handedly responsible for making my festivaling comrade cry (he claims it was simply the man menopause again) as their front-man miserably closed his case of unsold vinyl after just 10 fruitless minutes. The lack of people wading into their wallets was actually hugely surprising, as the band had just ripped through a spellbinding set of intricate and yet hugely appealing math-rock. Take the precision, passion and intelligence of Foals, remove their huge popular appeal, and replace it with the confusion and avant-garde of Battles and there you have Tall Ships. I sound enthusiastic and sympathetic, but to be fair, I didn’t buy one of their vinyl either (please don’t judge me). Give them some time to find their audience and they’ve got the sort of rare experimental appeal to actually sell quite a lot of records to quite a lot of quite infatuated fans. And we might even crack the wallet out ourselves.

Hit The Floor by Tall Ships

Tall Ships – Chemistry by Tall Ships

From the moment that Entrepreneurs signalled that they were ready 20 minutes before they were due to start, it was clear that this was not going to be a normal gig. To be honest, stage times are always ridiculously ambitious and adding ten minutes onto everything gets you nearer the truth, so to see an artist half way through the bill being early left us slightly nervous. This nervousness quickly turned to uneasiness as the two very hair-abundant young electronic geniuses who make up Entrepreneurs’ live show segued his fucked up electro together with stitches of glorious and terrifying sound. “Fuck Tactics” still swaggered to its own odd beat, and “Bubblegunk” has never sounded better, but in parts their set genuinely slipped towards being terrifying. And I mean that entirely as a compliment, because for two shrouded young men on stage to be able to cause that sort of emotion is a talent. Enough pretentious shit, though, because as much as I may believe that that’s proof that music is a form of art and not simple entertainment, the point is that Entrepreneurs may have been unsettling, but they were also thrilling, theatrical, and totally insane. When you can do those last three, then unsettling starts to sound very, very appealing.

Entrepreneurs – Fuck Tactics (Feat. FOE & Ghostpoet) by Not Many Experts

We really wanted to like Canadian high-brow indie types Winter Gloves. What we’d heard on the evil internet seemed promising, they seemed honest and hard-working like an idealistically Socialist indie band, and were clearly rightfully delighted to be playing in the Bombed Out Church. Unfortunately, that’s all we could do – like them, so as they looked on all doe-eyed at the Bombed Out Church, so did we. Anywhere else, to be upstaged by your venue would be quite embarrassing, but here, it was sort of inevitable that some uninspiring, skinny-jeaned unfortunates would befall that fate, and here Winter Gloves did. They’re the hardworking-but-bland Lucas Leiva of indie bands, landing somewhere in the landfill between Passion Pit’s heartless bleeps and the Temper Traps chasm of nothing apart from radio friendly choruses, so we can only hope that they’ll improve as Mr Leiva did, and that they enjoyed the Bombed Out Church as much as we did, because as we’ve always said, if a festival doesn’t make a venue out of a place of worship, it’s just not worth going to.*

Plastic Slides by Winter Gloves

Over the first few months in the year, Stealing Sheep have become Liverpool’s crowning new music triumph with their hazy melodies that pack more of a punch than any Scouser after a visit to Slaters. At Sound City, this was pretty much formally acknowledged as their lovely three-part melodies lined the front page of Bido Lito (the Liverpool new music bible that is probably more enthusiastically read than the actual Bible these days). Getintothis, another holy book on Liverpool’s new music scene, completed the recognition of how far Stealing Sheep have trotted this year by throwing them onstage in the Bombed Out Church in front of a very healthily-sized Sound City crowd.

On this stage, though, Stealing Sheep looked completely comfortable, filling the Bombed Out Church with ethereal anthems to-be. Looking completely in step with their monumentally impressive surroundings, they came across like Esben And The Witch, far less depressed but retaining their chilling atmospheres, whilst adding elements of pop absolutely everywhere to create head-arresting tunes like very few can. True story; a week later I inexplicably woke up with one of their songs in my head. But it might just be explicable, actually, it might just be because they really are that level of stick-in-your-head for-a-week good, and because they’re one of the finest Liverpudlian sounds in recent memory that actually stands a decent chance of being exported, and in a decrepit, crumbling old church, they seemed both of those things.

I Am The Rain by Stealing Sheep

Noah’s Days by Stealing Sheep

According to a wise passer-by, “I want to make many hippyish, long-haired, musical babies with Mrs Cults”. His words may have been dicatated by his penis (bloody guys, always the way), but we’d like to think that he was also influenced by Cults’ completely magnetic performance in the Masque.

There’s a certain attraction to be cynical about them. They’re a blog-built band who have now been signed to a major label who are chucking out their debut album in June. But with Cults, their position with labels and media is just irrelevant, because it’s more than a happy coincidence that their music is hypnotic, fixating, and many other wonderful things that we can’t even put words on. We came expecting “Go Outside” plus a smattering of disappointing album songs, but we left in love with their entire set, even if not with Mrs Cults as well. (We’ve decided she’s not marriage material as she was later spotted smoking outside Kurt Vile’s gig at the Kazimier – can’t have unhealthy babies and all that)

Cults – Abducted by cultscultscults

Cults – You Know What I Mean by cultscultscults

Half way through Black Lips’ triumphant headlining set in the Masque, a dripping teenager with an unsteady head and widened eyes like he’s just spent half a week discovering narcotics in an Ibizan club holds a lost brown shoe aloft like a very rock and roll trophy. The baying crowd around him is less than interested, and the shoe is thrown onto the stage. It’s safe to assume that the footwear-less owner of the shoe in question is preoccupied like the rest of the leaping horde; their gritty rock and roll heroes are in-front of them, peddling their guitar-based theatrics like only they dare.

As nostalgic an image that is, though, on that night Black Lips were only average. As it turns out, though, average by Black Lips’ standards is enough to make people lose their clothes. For that, you’ve got to give them some credit. But the truth is that despite the band bobbing up and down with the intensity of an ancient tantric ritual, and spraying beer into the crowd like they’d just won some sort of musical grand prix,  you can’t completely make up for poor sound quality with enthusiasm and theatrics. However, it turned out that their slacker-charm is actually a reality and they were even honest/foolish enough to admit to the audience that they had to spend the first 15 minutes of their set sorting their sound out because they had been sleeping when they were supposed to be sound-checking. This was followed by a shrug, and the bobbing and the baying continued, whilst they scraped out their garage-rock anthems from a sound system that just wasn’t agreeing with them. It’s tempting to be all garage-rock-idealistic and declare that the poor sound just added to their songs, but the truth is that it didn’t, a fact proven by both the inclusion of Ronson as producer on their new album, and by the results of that relationship (see “Modern Art” below). But as hard as it may be to admit, I can stand there analysing their sound quality all I might like to, but shoes will still be lost and the crowd will still hurt each other and take their clothes off, and the fact remains that Black Lips just are a fantastic live band. End. Of. Story.

Black Lips – Modern Art by Not Many Experts

By the time we tumbled into the Kazimier to catch Kurt Vile we were jaw-to-the-floor tired mainly due to being a bit pathetic and starting drinking far too early. But if our jaws could have have approached the floor any more closely, then after seconds of watching the tight machine of Kurt Vile & The Violators manufacture his heartfelt indie-folk anthems whilst adding the rhythm and soul of an entire band, they would have. After the rather top-notch “Smoke Ring For My Halo” we were already braced to receive a similarly top-notch performance, but with The Violators in tow his back-catalogue was expanded into the fully formed songs that Kurt had only hinted at on his solo work. It’s a matter of taste, but by these ears, and the ones next to mine, and judging by the agape mouths of the rest of the crowd (or was that just because they were talking?) the fully-boned versions of his cult-classics are yet more mindblowing, and at the very least translate far better into a live setting. Mindblowing, jaw breaking, and everything else, we left with our mouths still open, but our eyes closed because if God had decided to take us at that very moment we would have been quite happy to go. **

Kurt Vile – Ghost Town

*This is not a fact. BUT it is a maxim that Sound City appears to have taken admirably seriously with the addition of one of the city’s cathedral’s crypt to the list of venues. Where else can you party with decaying Saints and martyrs? Exactly.

** Although we’re happy to report that he did not take advantage of this. We are still alive.

PS – we hate to be so self deprecating but you really can read a far more informed and complete analysis of Liverpool Sound City at http://peterguy.merseyblogs.co.uk. Go for it. We won’t be offended.

To be completely honest, despite there being enough hype-laced writings about Chad Valley to make the amount of data seized from Bin Laden’s compound look like the rushed homework of a 12 year old, we weren’t expecting much. We definitely weren’t expecting his smooth balearic charm and his powerful and propulsive beats to hit with such poignancy. We weren’t expecting him to sound like what Friendly Fires would have sounded like if they’d turned towards their tropical tendencies rather than their popularist ones on their second album. And we really weren’t expecting for the Kazimier to be filled by such a striking and inescapably enormous voice every time he opened his mouth. Whether it be twiddly electronic trickery or not, it sounded undeniably perfect, leaving us with the conclusion that we really really didn’t expect; ironically, despite all of the hype, Chad Valley was the unexpected highlight of our first day at Sound City.

Chad Valley – Now That I’m Real by CASCINE

We’re still loving Wolf Gang, he wears top notch scarves, looks like a trustworthy sort of bloke, gives out free beer at his gigs, and as a sort of unnecessary bonus his music is even a constant reminder of what pop music should sound like. However. There’s a big however. This is a live review, and as such we’re supposed to just review how Wolf Gang sounded on one particular night in Liverpool at Mojo’s, and not babble on about how much we’re a fan of a guy. It hardly seems fair, but that’s just the way that this stuff works.

And to be totally honest, standing halfway into a room full if slightly surprisingly disinterested looking people, our ears weren’t totally blown away all of the time. We say all of the time, because at times they were, and at times Wolf Gang and his band were impressive, but they were crippled by a sound system that just refused to respond to them, and strangled their sound into an uncohesive mess whenever the expanded beyond Max’s evocative voice. Behind the underwhelming fuzz, though, were enormous pop songs which we’re still sure should be being heard by far, far more people, and we’re still sure that at some undefined point in the future, they will be. The King and All Of His Men by wolfgang

Yuck deserve a fawning review simply for being spotted on Seel Street, lying on the pavement on top of one another, smoking, and looking like the cutest shoegazing band ever. It’s at moments like that that you need a reliable photographer to get the perfect picture to end up on the cover of NME so that we could have milked the inevitable royalties for everything they were worth and spent our remaining days having the Sultan of Dubai serve us Dom Perignon, but at that particular moment my useless photographer* had chosen to forget his. All I have is the satisfaction of having shared the mental image with you, and to be honest, I would have preferred the champagne. No offence.

Anyway, contrary to the direction of the first paragraph, Yuck were actually present at Liverpool Sound City for the purposes of playing some of their music, which we have all already established is pretty amazing. If I was being a pedantic bastard I might argue that they had the easiest job at Sound City as the majority of the musical world is already a converted disciple to their fuzzy parable, but every note was still delivered with the verve and electricity of the record, but louder, more aggressively, and, well, when you can see that afro bobbing up and down enthusiastically, everything seems a few percent better. Probably because of the internet and scribblings like ours, there are more new bands than there are erupting Icelandic volcanoes, but very few have the quality to stick around for more than a few exciting but fleeting rounds on the hype machine. Tonight, a packed Kazimier saw that Yuck seem to have a maturity and a togetherness that hint that they really may be one of the more important bands of recent times; and even if they aren’t, at least they’re tricking sold out venues into thinking that they are, and that is all we can ask for.Shook Down by Yuck

I thought that I’d put Trophy Wife all the way down here because I’ve painstakingly recorded before here and here (and even here) that I’d like nothing  more to coerce them into eloping to Venice with me, and perhaps by sticking them down here at least 50% of people will have become bored and will miss my most recent love paean to the band. Their set in the Kazimier could have been the scene of an ugly divorce, so whilst waiting for them to come on I was terrified that I was about to witness the shocking evidence of why the whole music industry hasn’t fallen so pathetically infatuated with them as I have, and in a strange way, I did. But not because they were disappointing. If anything, they were unexpectedly impressive; pounding out their precise Oxfordian foot-shuffling anthems with a musical confidence that was just summed up by the smile inducing sight of their brilliantly manic drummer enthusiastically doing everything but smash to pieces the home-made electronic drum kit in-front of him, all with a smile on his face like a 10-year-old who has just been told that every remaining day of his life will be Christmas Day.

What they exuded in musical confidence, though, they lacked in on-stage confidence, and as “Take This Night” removed another coat of paint from the Kazimier’s floor with all of the awkward foot shuffling going on, and “Microlite” provided conclusive evidence that Trophy Wife are, musically, a breathtaking live band, it also became clear that there’s good reason why my peers aren’t planning their next Valentine’s Day with Trophy Wife. It’s depressing, but true, most indie bands that you and I would consider to be very, very successful within their own “indie” context have a story and a certain charisma that might mean nothing musically, and it might even be that they’re musically far worse than Trophy Wife, but for now it at least might explain why Trophy Wife should be on the front page of every alternative music magazine in the country, but aren’t. More nights like tonight and very soon it will be their story being told, whatever that is, and as long as the result is that their mournful indie disco gets the recognition it deserves, then justice will be done.Trophy Wife – Microlite by Not Many Experts

*I say “photographer” like I’m the editor of the NME or something, so to avoid you all thinking I’m an arrogant twat, I should just clarify that I am, in fact, referring to my forgetful and disorganised (but loveable) friend Bish who happens to own a camera.

** You can also read a far more informed and complete analysis of Liverpool Sound City at http://peterguy.merseyblogs.co.uk/

It would be easy to construct a case for Liverpool having gone through a musical revolution in the past few years, sort of like the Egyptian revolution, just with fewer camel charges and more burnt down venues. (In fact, so easy would it be to make a case that that’s exactly what Getintothis did, and very, very well, too) Mere years ago young & old people from the city gifted with discerning music taste floated the city hoping for the announcement of gigs from the bands of the day who’s tours seemed to travel the entire country, whilst skilfully circumventing Liverpool as if it were a foreign country or leper colony.

Things have changed. The many, many contributory reasons are cross-examined in far more comprehensive detail than I am able to at the link above, but without a doubt, the ascendancy of Liverpool Sound City has a lot to answer for. In a good way. The success of the festival itself is complex and, frankly, irrelevant, but a diverse and exciting line-up, along with venues crammed with character and the successful organisation and structure have much to do with it. As a result, all of the right tour managers, promoters and bands have been passing through Liverpool; and the festival itself has provided an excuse for the city’s ears to drag their friends into a slightly less mainstream world of music.

This year, again, will provide an opportunity for this process to continue, and if the announcement of the first acts are anything to go by (which… they are, of course) then it looks like the success of the festival itself is beyond doubt this year. Below is a deliciously listenable compilation of our picks from the first announcements, but before we go, it’s worth mentioning that this year the dramatic decision has been made to make all shows wristband-only shows which… may or may not be a good decision, we’re no experts (no pun intended) and it is unimportant – from May 19th many of the most promising names in music shall be in Liverpool, so bring your camels, comrades – it looks a lot like this particular “revolution” is continuing for another year, at least.

Wristbands are cheaper than 11 double cheeseburgers from Hardman’s at £35, until March 1st when, presumably, the price will go up. So if you’ve already pre-ordered The King of Limbs, then what could you possibly be waiting for? Water is free on tap by law and  food is a bit of an unnecessary luxury so get cracking.

Tracks after le jumpe, comrades.

Gil Scott-Heron & Jamie XX – I’m New Here

Rattling Cage by Forest Swords

Chad Valley – Portuguese Solid Summer

SBTRKT – Colonise

Black Lips – “Drugs”

Colourmusic – Tog

Kurt Vile – Jesus Fever

Funeral Party – Finale

Wave Machines – Keep The Lights On

Three Trapped Tigers – 6

Yuck – Shook Down

Zeus – Kindergarten by Arts & Crafts

A quality that Chibuku’s 7th October headliners appear to have in common, aside from laying down beats so contagious that can only be described as incendiary, is the admirable ability to choose a really nice T-Shirt. It looks cool and it really helps me out in terms of amusing observational humour.

Take for example Roska (a pleasant revelation) – lower Torso read caption “In gold we trust”, a catchy line that might also be applied to the quality of his set. Boyz Noise favoured a more continental direction – T shirt caption reading “Bon Voyage”, (I’m sure some slightly more adventurous Chibuku attendees could testify to the relevance of the English Translation “Good Trip”), whilst James Rand pounded the T-Shirt competition with the motherbitch of all T-Shirts, yes that’s right; the Bob Marley.

And that is what is so characteristic about Chibuku. I have a lot of fun whenever I go. DJs wear excellent T-Shirts, 80+ year olds blaze across the dance floor (I saw one) and random Manchester bros talk to you whilst you piss away several quad vods. Of course, the music quality is tremendously high, and needless to say the bass level could rupture bone cartilage let alone ear drums, whilst the BPM leaves you spinning for the rest of the night. But what is irreplaceable about Chibuku (and why you should go if you haven’t yet) is that you get to see the best electro/D n’ B/ dubstep producers in the best atmosphere, yes I think I can go this far, short of heaven.

Roska – Play Gamez by NotManyExperts

You have probably noticed by now our tendency to introduce our favourite music by tenuously linking it to frustratingly dead end but thought provoking discussions about weighty topics such as the state of the music industry today / the culture of music blogs / how is it so possible for so many people to like Scouting For Girls. That’s all well and good, and we do enjoy pretending to know what’s going on, but sometimes, just sometimes, possibly at about 2 in the morning, we just feel the need to say: this, without a doubt, is a fucking amazing song. (and an equally encouraging album as well)

This is absolutely how I feel about Archie Bronson Outfit’s “Hoola” right now. (and the attached album, “Coconut”) There’s no way that, in this state, I can forge even a questionable link between it and the depressing state of music consumption today, or the future of the music industry. Quite simply, “Hoola” is one of those essential songs that you’ll look back on a years time and see how it defined a short period of your life. It’s a song that the repeat button was made for. It’s the sort of tune that you’ll look forward to all night as you grind it out (attempt to pass the time, not embarrassing hip gyration) at yet another average party.

Two fairly lengthy paragraphs down and I’ve not yet managed to even faintly describe what “Hoola”, or “Coconut” sounds like. But then, all of the above is just what the song means to me, and any ridiculous attempt to describe it would just again, be my interpretation. Ultimately, why would you bother reading clumsy words (it’s clear that words were almost definitely not invented to precisely describe music) when you can listen to it yourself and form your own opinions? In that sense, music journalism really is fucking useless. I’m not here to tell you what to think, just to recommend music that I genuinely love, but it’s up to your to establish your own position. Strangely, I seem to have gone from discussing how I’m not going to end up in a philosophical back alley this time, to ending up completely unintentionally in my pseudo-philosophical back alley. I just hope that you’re listening to “Hoola” by now – they’re 3 minutes of your life that you’re not going to want to get back from me.

PS: If you thought that was even slightly average, then you need to get “Coconut” in your life as well – it comes out on Monday on Domino, and we all know how everyone is swimming in money at the moment and all that, so crack out a wad of 10s. And oh yeah, it really is very very good. A proper description? Nah. Not only do I genuinely believe what I wrote above about forming your own opinions and trusting recommendations, but it has surpassed the 2 o’clock that I mentioned and I will not last much longer.

PPS: Lucky inhabitants of Liverpool can catch Archie Bronson Outfit in an incredible line up with Oh No Ono and White Hinterland on 19.05.10 and can get rid of more of that money stuff here. The whole thing is going to be occurring in The Kazimier as well, which is, in my opinion, one of the most original and therefore best venues in the country, and is probably worth the ticket price alone.

Let’s face it, tinnitus is just another encouraging sign that you’ve really enjoyed your life (other positive signs are bad teeth and a negative bank balance) instead of having spent it swathed in bubble wrap and surrounded by health and safety officials. In fact, if I’m going to be honest, it seems that people these days are spending far too much time fussing over whether their earplugs are sitting at the right angle, and checking decibel levels at gigs, before adjusting themselves to a suitably quiet distance from the speakers.

Japandroids’ critically fawned over “Post Nothing” is the complete antithesis of this, which is partly why I placed them at #16 in my inevitable “Albums of 2009” list. Made their year, I heard. Thank the lords, then, that similarly adored Liverpool tastemakers Evol & Meshuggy have lured Japandroids over from their native Canada to recklessly abuse the cochleae* of Liverpool’s music lovers this Saturday.

You can buy tickets here, or, for those of you with little money, no conscience, or who simple enjoy free stuff, we are giving away a ticket for the gig at Korova. All you need to do to win is follow us on our brand new twitter and re-tweet the few words we put down about Japandroids. We’ll then pick a random winner and get in touch with you. *We should probably point out in the interests of the naive that going to this gig is not going to damage your ability to hear noises with your ears.

Japandroids fans will also be pleased to hear that the band are going to be hitting the studio in the short gaps on their current tour and releasing a slew of unreleased Japandroids songs on 7”. The first in this series is “Art Czars”, which you can hear above and buy here.

I’m liking what this poster’s telling me a lot; Joker, Fake Blood, Caspa, Rusko, Aeroplane and Simian Mobile Disco all compressed into one immense night. I’ve already ploughed through a thesaurus of superlatives to try and articulate just how great this line up is in a previous post, but now Simian Mobile Disco have been announced as the headliners. That said, I saw SMD on Saturday at the Warehouse Project and was left, not for the first time by an SMD live set, a little disappointed. I think it’s necessary to emphasise the “live set” part of their sentence though; I really believe that, although they sound great on record, the music just doesn’t translate well to a live setting. On the other hand, Simian Mobile Disco DJ Set?!! Now that is something that is half tempting me to whack out my superlative thesaurus.

Simian Mobile Disco – I Believe

Simian Mobile Disco – Cruel Intentions ft. Beth Ditto (Joker Remix)

Freeland – Do You (Joker Remix)  < Highly Recommended!

For the downloadable mp3s, add us on le Book de Faces.

You know, after years of spending my time using music as an excuse not to do anything else, you might think that I’d have got this whole “keeping up with music” business down to an art. Apparently not; despite being battered by F ederico Franchi’s “Cream” pretty much every weekend, I was always far too unreceptive at the time that it was played to take too much notice of it. I heard Erol Alkan drop it at Camp Bestival, and decided that I had to add this track to my collection. Finally, after a month scouring erolalkan.com, I found out that it was “Cream”, and have been spinning it ever since. The most embarrassing thing is that it was on “The Annual 2008” which has been knocking about in my room for years. And, you know what? It sounds better sober.

Federico Franchi – Cream

Whilst on the rare subject of huge club tunes, it is worth mentioning Sidney Samson’s “Riverside”. I had initially assumed this was a homage to Liverpool, but this hypothesis was destroyed by the discovery that Sidney is from Scandinavia. Anyway, “Riverside” has become one of those inescapable songs and, to be frank, aren’t we all just getting a little sick of it? Thanks to Torro Torro, then, for this huge reinvention.

Sidney Samson – Riverside (Torro Torro Remix)

The xx’s eponymous debut is fast maturing into a serious contender for album of the year. Understated, simple, incredible lyrical arrangements and boundless originality for an album released in the MGMT and Lady Gaga “stick a synth on it” era; and yet I have only mentioned the young London band once before, in passing. So if you’ve never heard of the xx before, if you’ve been ignoring the incessant hype or if you just haven’t been effectively persuaded to pick up the album, introduce yourself to the album’s imaginatively (yet accurately) titled introduction, “Intro”. Any track that is named after its position on the album is not instantly promising, but “Intro” is two minutes of ambient bliss; a real aural masterpiece that stands out even in a record full of them.

Whilst you’re at it, if you live anywhere near Liverpool, clear your schedule for next Tuesday. Why? Liverpool’s best club night, Evol, is putting on the best band to visit the city in many many months, The xx, in the best venue Liverpool has to offer, Korova, for only a fiver! Buy your ticket quickly because the rest of their tour has sold out. Grab one here.

Returning to school at the tail end of (another) disappointing summer has its fair share of negative connotations for me. Constant, niggling illnesses that somehow always manage to skilfully balance themselves somewhere unpleasant but not quite serious enough to stay off school. The inevitable Mondays spent being ridiculed for the “unavoidable” hedonistic activities of the weekend. Waiting for a lift in the cold, wet mornings, wondering just how it is possible that everybody in the whole flunking country seems to be able to adhere loyally to Greenwich Meantime like some sacred British institution, with the singular exception of the one person who’s ignorance of such a phenomenon of time keeping has the result of you getting exceptionally and unbelievably wet.

Such a time might verge on unbearable if it were not for the fact that, at the same time as such invaluable knowledge as the origins of the Liverpool Overhead Railway is being imbibed by your flaccid brain, the frankly insane people over at Liverpool’s Chibuku Shake Shake are putting together their twisted heads and combining them to conjur up line ups of the finest calibre. All this, of course, only provides me with more moments to engage in the “unavoidable” hedonistic activities of weekends. And so the cycle continues.

Chibuku posters are no stranger to famous and talented names, but the demi gods who curate these line ups announced today what is, in my opinion, their strongest line up to date:

Chibuku Shake Shake
Saturday 17th October
The Masque / Seel Street / Liverpool

Theatre
Special guest TBA
Fake Blood

Ink
Chibuku present Heartbeat
Aeroplane (dj set)
Wandy
Phil Cooper
Luke Carr

Loft
Chibuku present Dubpolice
Caspa & Rusko
Joker
SixAM

General & Ticket information
Chibuku info / 0151 706 8045 / www.chibuku.com
Tickets available from
www.chibuku.com/shop
www.ticketline.co.uk / 0161 8321 111
www.ticketweb.co.uk
www.skiddle.com

Need I say any more, really? I am quite aware that lazy journos over-use that phrase religiously, but, on this occasion, I think it may just be true. The poster says it all. Fake Blood is fast making 2009 his year, and Aeroplane’s DJ set is quite possibly the best I have ever seen. Add a touch of top quality dubstep and… well; hello hedonism!

Calvin Harris – Ready For The Weekend (Fake Blood Remix)

Fake Blood – I Think I Like It (Removed by request)

Fake Blood – Mars (Hervé Remix)

Sébastien Tellier – Kilometer (Aeroplane Italo ‘84 Remix)

May I also mention that if you live in the California area, head over to this post to win free tickets to see Wolfgang Gartner!

If you want to download the mp3s, you can find them by adding NME on Facebook.