BEATS OF LOVE

85. To Be Rich (Should Be A Crime) by Jeb Loy Nichols 

THE BILLIONAIRE is by far the deadliest invention since the atom bomb. 

Billionaires have kindled a collective desire to create even more wealth for themselves by entering politics. Their newspapers, lobbying, and financial support shape how many of us think. At best, supporting the protectionist principle of maintaining tax loopholes. Depriving each country of hundreds of millions. At worst, supporting expansionism, dirty money, archaic orthodoxy, and war. 

Consequently, we now have a political class utterly obsessed with transferring as much wealth from the very bottom to the very top. Poverty used to be concealed, but now the folk down on their luck are visible everywhere as warnings to the rest of us. In reality, they represent the tragic fallout from generations corrupted by greed.

We have banks, energy firms, and supermarkets, with one star ratings on trust pilot, yet are still lumbered with them accessing our most prized data. We  wouldn't go near a plumbing firm with a one star rating though. This fanciful idea of competition creating choice looks more and more like a myth. 

    

We now have a totally discontented workforce that looks at MP's salaries agog as they rise with inflation repeatedly. This double standard also occurs whenever most politician's lips move coz they simply can't be honest about just how corrupt everyone in their world now is. Almost every successful business has added an uncreative layer to their costs, producing nothing but cuts whilst encasing workers in an environment of fear. 

That this layer has wormed its way into our health service is truly tragic. Many people will die and this utterly greedy and corrupt modern day politician, a mere spokesperson for its billionaire paymaster, will blame our health care professionals. 

Our only choice, it seems, is whether to swallow their shit or not. Please don't. 

BEATS OF LOVE

84. Be Nothing by Beach Fossils

NOT HEARD a mix for ages that surprises and pleases in equal measure, which is choc full of the shimmering understated brilliance that makes some records sound so great. I have this morning. 

Titled ShoeGaze to NuGaze, true friend of music Jeff O'Toole has whipped up nothing less than a musical storm on winged guitars that both revisits tried and tested classics and introduces us to fresh acts. Well, some of us. He has kindly track-listed his therapeutic mix, so just follow the link below. 

I already feel deeply acquainted with this absolute gem from a Brooklyn surf/indie band not on my radar until today. It builds and builds with majestic patience before teasing in the best instruction of any year. Be Nothing. And then the guitars go a little mental but with an energetic warmth.  

I intended to type about the great futility of railing against the masses and their mediocrity coz its ingrained into our DNA with our pointless rebellions over 500 years, but this song sort of says it all for me. Only more eloquently, brilliantly, and rhythmically. And with a thousand fewer words.

Great music always cuts through. Cheers Jeff for bringing it in spades.   

https://www.mixcloud.com/jeff_o2l/now-wave-mail-out-mix-april-23-shoegaze-to-nugaze/ 

BEATS OF LOVE

83. Dance Your Way Home: A Journey Through the Dancefloor by Emma Warren

AFTER A humbling exchange of e-mails with top drawer author Emma discussing her book in the making, I'm chuffed it's every bit as brave and moving as I hoped it would be now that it has been published. 

I read Jockey Slut religiously, so knew of Emma. That said, when we first bonded she was this really cool nameless character who endured the freezing cold court yard in Sankeys, trance ish dancing to the invariably sullen John McCready and his box of delightfully dubby techno. I assumed she must've been his girlfriend. Bugged Out hadn't properly found its feet and the underground house booming out of the main room that NYE didn't sound all that underground. That courtyard was dance fire to the faithful.

Thankfully, my dancing buddy (cheers Emma) became part of my wider Bugged Out circle and over time we even danced gleefully to one of my favourites, She Comes In Colours.  I just had to be in awe of someone who was miffed about not editing Jockey Slut's Hip-Hop reviews page whilst turning me onto Peter Tosh in a no nonsense manner. 

My most abiding memory of Emma was the Friday tea-time Jeff Mills was doing a turn at E-Bloc. I got there early, then saw an all male train spotters convention file past. I hastily decided that there was something over-analytical and cold about Mills, so decided to rifle through the racks at M1 records next door instead. I then saw Emma enthusiastically wade through the convention, approaching the counter, and was in two minds whether to stay and greet her or not. I simply smiled to myself and left. 

That fearlessness epitomises Emma. I wish I'd known how sparingly but brilliantly she prizes out history from her own personal footprint as this book effortlessly demonstrates. You learn lots without her cerebral approach, which feels refreshing. I also wish I'd known the importance of dancing; both psychologically and as a means of communicating. 

I guess no one did until this wonderful book was written.