Clubbing in London can be sometimes be more hard work than the total gleeful hedonistic hit it should be. 'Oh boo hoo mate,' I hear you say. 'Boo hoo - is it getting tough now going out all the time getting murked? Shall I get my oboe out for you and give you a sad tune to commiserate life being so tricky? Honestly you're making me well up over here at your plight.'
No fam, you don't need to do that for it is very much not a REAL problem. But as you probably know the capital is full of a lot of cunts who can turn a night out into an endurance test rather than an ecstatic thrill. Pricey pints, overly sold, nobs everywhere, po-faced people, in a 'secret warehouse location' not having a whale of a time getting on it?
Turns out you need to find a night put on by someone as fucked off with these so-called 'rules' as you. (although I'm not saying that everyone sticks to them - just the majority seem to forget about the joy). Mike Skinner is best known for being The Streets and inventing DIY, post-ecstasy computerised Brummie melancholy and lad biznarse. But is now putting on amazing parties with Manchester's Murkage crew under the banner of Tonga. We went to check them play a rammed Stonebridge bar at Glastonbury and last Friday at the Waiting Room in Stoke Newington - both were off the chain - the latter was small, sweaty with a Wetherspoon's around the corner, no one was being overly precious about mixing, just maximum emphasis on the music and the fucking vibe. At last.
Check out this ace mix for a flavour of the night... and get to know Skinner on his blog. He's a funny fucker mannnn...
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