BEATS OF LOVE 

161. Penetration by Iggy and the Stooges 

WHAT'S STRIKING about Farage's polling is that only a third of his own supporters think he's racist and will abolish our NHS.

Two-thirds must be very gullible. Predictably, his week started with a humongous lie about what we'll save addressing the Boriswave by attacking legal migrants and nothing about what we'll lose, namely our collective soul. 

His own vanity and fear of Boris Johnson has led to another droll Trumpian flagship announcement. Assuming we'll want a system that's no kinder to us Brits, but far, far harsher to everybody else. So harsh that we'll just let folk die outside hospitals so we won't have to queue as long. So harsh that we'll happily work alongside folk who see no future, just the prospect of deportation. 

Farage, ever the political charlatan, now shares some semblance of punk rock's ideology in that he seeks to destroy things. Where punk sought to expose truths, he seeks to conceal them. Seeking to destroy integration to conceal the truth that there is more that unites us than divides. Seeking to destroy our human rights to conceal the truth that they protect us more than threaten. And seeking to destroy our NHS to conceal the truth that we need it more than it needs us.

It's ironic that many old punk rockers see Farage's phoney rebellion as authentic and somehow anti-establishment, ironic, and deeply troubling. 

BEATS OF LOVE 

160. When Will it End by Honey Cone

LAYING OFF 500 people one day and inciting nearly 150,000 protesters to act in defence of their country, the next, takes a special psycho. A country not under attack and not even his. 

Elon Musk, that special psycho loves choreographing the very folk, his politics have laid to waste. A logical move for folk was to turn toward a party intent on redistributing wealth, but polarizing social media has eroded our shared reality. 

In this age, with its overemphasis on societal irony, social media doesn't challenge opinion. Its algorithms instead create echo chambers which simply reinforce existing belief. Conditioning users who are now adept at rebuking Corbyn while failing to explain what Thatcher ever did for the traditional working class. They are armed with simple, repetitive quotes to defend the billionaires, but can't explain how less inequality creates happier societies. They have also adapted to deflect criticism, dismissing comparisons to Nazi Germany, but cannot explain away their ever rising anger. 

An anger that strips folk of their individuality, which has its roots in aggressive violence and not victimhood. It's more pitiful still watching labour politicians too scared of losing votes to extol the many virtues found in multi-racial, multi-faith Britain. Instead, giving legitimacy to wholly unremarkable figures like Tommy Robinson. Instead, apologists for this huge, ever growing loveless grievance narrative that stokes this rising anger. 

A narrative that reads like the bleakest of slogans. A narrative manufactured and bankrolled by psychopaths who think nothing of laying 500 people off. Absolutely nothing.

BEATS OF LOVE 

159. Wanna Be Startin' Somethin' by Michael Jackson

IT'S EASY to clap when your political beliefs aren't being challenged. Such was the case last night when Jeremy Corbyn came into town. Outlining the vision of his future party as yet unnamed.

Likening himself in this moment to Keir Hardie, who had to break away from the liberals, added a touch of gravitas to an otherwise confusing political pitch. How, with no name, no leadership personnel, no trade union support and no print press interest, the animated man beside me expects Corbyn to win the 2029 election is anyone's guess. 

Everyday Farage's reform party is pulling away in the polls with anti-immigration spin. Yet more people now see capitalism as sacrificial economics, and it's no surprise to see a very confident former hedge fund manager faking salt of the earth appeal to distract from the fact. Demanding that people turn away from economic truth to explain loss by insisting that immigration has failed society and not this sacrificial economics. And turn away from social reality to explain justice by insisting we are inherently different when the opposite is true. These stories radicalise the dreamer, who is typically an impoverished, white, working-class individual. 

Outside the hall were small-town activists, labelling such dreamers fascist with an air of self righteousness, but Corbyn, if he's to become a political threat, will have to find some charm and wake them up. Convincing them they're the victims of manipulation. 

Sadly, it will probably take a demonstration of Farage's chicanery in power to accomplish that. 

BEATS OF LOVE 

158. Patron Saint Of Elsewhere LP by Sewell & the Gong

NOT SURE how this talented duo was going to translate over a long-play listen after a mighty impressive twelve, but they've locked into one hell of a mood and groove with a confidence which is highly addictive. A tad weightier but still spangled with enough air to take all the heavy chocolate in your life away.

I’d intended to heap high praise on the coming together of kosmische precision and pastoral reverie, but Dr Rob beat me to it. * And far more eloquently descriptive. Even citing the sound within to be evocative of a drug free Spacemen 3. I've never dared imagine a drug free Spacemen 3. Surely it's like imagining the Beatles without George Harrison. 

The pressing is flawless too, which helps when drifting off deep. So deep that I stubbed my little toe on my swivel chair's foot while surrendering to it. The most pain I've felt in ages which is odd considering how many heavy pallets I've mishandled of late. So much so that I actually put on a pair of socks to lie down and finish my listen. 

If this was a dish, it would be paella. Best shared. I miss communal listening. Whilst not as intense, it is great sharing the energy and space with someone appreciative. Loving the print too with its soft sherbert hues that nailed what I was imagining my flyers would be like when an illustrator friend helped me out until they came back. Nothing like this, of course. 

Only this time I actually bought their work for the colourful psychedelia of the music in its entirety. Beguiling drones and all. 

* https://banbantonton.com/2025/07/31/sewell-the-gong-patron-saint-of-elsewhere-dsppr/

 BEATS OF LOVE 

157. You are the Place by Shilpa Gupta 

MASSIVELY INDEBTED to my missus Factory International family. Their support following Ma's sudden death has been incredible.

I slipped out of the house for a second visit to this highly emotive multilingual sound installation. A reflection of both personal and collective memory which encouraged me to lie back, immersed in a meditative soundscape to the fractured tender voices that moved nearer and further away.

Lamenting voices singing about the personal as stored in memory, echoing the Rochdale community in all its brilliant diversity. Gupta's clever attempts to strike discord, the ever moving lightbulbs and microphones, symbols of connection and fracture, brilliantly show that the harmony which sits at the heart of this most vulnerable of choirs cuts through anything. Verses that reveal our shared humanity. Our vulnerability so often masked is what unites us and not constructs of power like flags. Celebrated in a chorus of languages, it sounds less like a sound tapestry and more like a meaningful whole. 

I'm an honorary migrant. I feel the same shrill wavering in my ear going past a bedraggled immigration solicitor's office, and that same feeling of dread when the far right is in the news. With the missus family based in Nigeria, our main connection is through phone calls. This physical separation only magnifies the sense of isolation during difficult moments. Like now. 

As I laid back on the floor with tears pooling in my eyes, I meditated on what could be and not what is. 

BEATS OF LOVE 

156. Ghost Assembly DJ set 

I EXPERIENCED social trauma at 28. A before and after, for sure. Clubs before always created a bit of stress and I always needed liquid courage at home beforehand, as I was no longer anonymous. Despite taking my music and fashion considerations seriously, I was very much the village idiot of clubland. I had an odd reverence for clubs and these ritualistic elements that, with hindsight, replaced the importance the church had been. A transformative and immersive experience until it meshed with reality.

After that was a nightmare; I was trying to walk into the same clubs but on pills for my nerves. A hesitant introspection replaced a fearlessness of character, and I craved reinvention. To compound matters, the redundancy that was going to get me back to the Metropolis never materialised, so I became bitter and twisted in my bungalow until I went back to the church.

Hard to believe that I could now sit watching Wimbledon after work in the same bungalow, indifferent whether the missus wanted me to join her at the Manchester International Festival 25 or not. She did, so after showering and deciding my freshly cut hair looked flat, I put on my corduroy Horsebeach cap and headed out to meet her. My only fashion consideration. 

When I got there, I did my usual pacing around and read that Abigail's Ghost Assembly was DJing as part of Dave Haslam's takeover. Despite the missus working the following morning, she agreed to stay, as I had a lot of warm fuzzy memories forming in my mind of my time in the Boardwalk nightclub and beyond. 

Abigail was entering the scene as I was exiting, but I always find her hiding in the same corners as me on the very few occasions our paths cross. I know that social awkwardness and have massiv respect that this set is laying bare her studio work and exposing it to folk a bit like me. The rustiest dancer for sure, but her twisted hypnotic beats worked a treat. Tweaking memorable nostalgic touches like vocal stabs and harmonicas into unique and sturdy backbeats creates a lot of natural spark. De Laatste Rit is the catchiest, but there's definitely at least two more acid tinged shufflers that are equally trance inducing. 

I found myself completely out of sync on the dancefloor by Haslam's opener, the frenetically brilliant Company B's Fascinated, so called it a night. My first public dance since covid. Transcendence has never been so short and sweet.

BEATS OF LOVE 

155. Steady Weather LP by Torn Sail

I'M perplexed by the one policy obsessives. Through Christine's e-mail, I helped get my labour MP to actually vote against the Terminally Ill Adults (End of Life) Bill, but it still went through.

Now, hearing a whiff that the tories or reform will repeal it, she's now asked me to pressure them to a manifesto commitment. Like those two parties of darkness will ever comprehend human experience. Yes, I'm politically frustrated and still processing Ma's sudden death whilst the missus attends a prearranged funeral, so I'm feeling out of sorts. 

Thank God then for a bit of sunburst and musical solace, with a timely reminder from Huw that he was hosting a listening party for Torn Sail's third album Steady Weather. Huw has unwittingly kept me afloat because he should be much more popular. If he has the grace to persevere with not being, then I can persevere with the trials and tribulations of my life. I ponder the reasons for him not being and can only find the hazy intensity of the music and an uncompromising approach isn't hitting folk immediately. It says a lot about the modern music listener.

Nick Drake needed future listeners to become much more popular, and maybe Torn Sail does. Thankfully, Murray Scott is carrying on evangelising where I left off and whilst the listening party was intimate, everyone seemed blown away. I was in the back garden and everything that was unruly swayed gently in perfect harmony with the mesmerising guitars. A truly transformative experience. Huw had conceived his three LPs as far back as 2019 and he made the third sound darker when discussing it, like a massive divergence. Thankfully, it's as warm and sunlit as it is, sprawling and epic. I won't harp on coz everyone knows I love this band, other than to say not a guitar strum is unnecessary.

I'm perplexed by Torn Sail. Perplexed why they aren't much more popular coz they let in the light and fully comprehend human experience. An antidote, if ever there was to a dark world.   

https://tornsail1.bandcamp.com/album/steady-weather