HI GANG! First off be aware that I am playing A SHOW in London on Wednesday, it will be a full on audio visual affair and I will be getting a LIVE BRAIN SCAN beamed onto a projector for all to enjoy, so hop on a plane for that or whatever you have to do.
Your friendly neighbourhood Don here. I have recently returned from a splendid and action packed 12 days in Sunny Los Angeles. Many things occurred, many adventures were had, and many blogs could have been written, but I didn’t have any time to write blogs cos that would have taken up time I could have been ADVENTURING… and now it is October 4th, a date I’d booked in my calendar as “GTAV HOLIDAY”… so I’ve taken time out of that, dear reader, to put together a wee photo diary of some of my LA adventures, so that history may know at least a few of them, and you may be inspired.
The first few days of the trip you can read about here. They involved meetings with GANSTER VEGAS, RECORD LABEL TYPES, THE SIMPSONS, DUKE DA GOD FROM DIPSET, and a whole lot of song recording and after-partying and other-such fancy tomfoolery. Then, it was Sunday.
On Sunday were mostly Pool Lounging, and later Recording with world famous therapist, gamer, Radiohead covers band leader and Beverly Hills Mansion Party DJ Xavier!
In the evening we were recording, and later Going To War with my arch nemesis Mecha McCartney, who interrupted our recording, at the behest of Kanye’s best buddy Jimmy Kimmel, who’s always casing trouble outside Wade’s house.
I was hanging out with Grant and Kristan Morrison and famed bodybuilder Allan Amoto on Monday, who pointed out that in LA, even when the buildings get torn down, the billboards remain.
Afterwards they wouldn’t let me in the cinema to meet my pals cos I’d arrived late, so I went searching for adventure on my own. I ran into (What’s up!) Fatlip within about 3 minutes. We drank whiskey and discussed contemporary rap and the relevance or lack of of Jay-Z, and shit of that nature. He loved my shit. SO IT GOES.
Meanwhile Hercules was having a bath.
Tuesday was a day of pure Work. I didn’t take any photos or video all day, spending most of the time working on the new songs, then on Wednesday Wade and I went to Hooray Henrys, which is a very posh nightcub, and we played a whole bunch of those new songs and lo the people did love them.
There was a lady dressed up as a Beefeater without trousers stood on the DJ booth but we didn’t let that put us off as we are Professionals.
Hanging around the DJ booth I met hash oil enthusiast and professional party human Eden Muse, who introduced me to the joys of the VAPE, a beautiful and super futuristic weed smoking apparatus you can use in clubs in LA cos its civilised.
I then got a ride to the Beverly Hills afterparty off of some radical dude in one of these.
LOOKIT THAT THING!
So amazing. Meanwhile the afterparty looked like the lounge in GTA online.
I went looking for booze, which I found, quickly, as this was a civilised affair, bravely and righteously defying LA’s No Booze After 2 rules.
The time was a very wavy one. I would like to thank our hosts, who aside from throwing extravagant after parties write HITS for Robbie Williams, amongst others.
We got home at about 9am and stayed up till 11 listening to Stunners 130 marvelling at how ahead of its time it was and how great it still sounds and writing a beautiful song about Vegas. The next day we had hangovers, obviously, so we went to the Disney Store for Milkshakes, and Wade bought a Mickey. We also managed to follow up on some of the previous night’s serendipitous encounters and arrange some meetings, like Gs.
Meanwhile back In London, 8 month old baby genius Hercules decided to start talking, demanding, “where’s dadda?” heartbreakingly enough.
That night we recorded another song, with local party creating legend Pamela Francesca and lo it was beautiful.
The day after I was reunited with original Donette Margo Stilley, who sang backing vocals at the first London ATD gig, using that mighty achievement as a springboard to a wildly successful acting career.
We went to see the new Woody Allen movie, which someone should have warned us was a goddamn Horror flick (and why was Cate Blanchet wearing prosthetic earlobes anyway?), and later Margo recorded us a mighty TAG, which will will plaster all over our records with pride.
We also managed to squeeze in a recording session with a fine saxophonist, for two of our new songs. Directing sax is super fun.
That night Wade was DJing at The Roosevelt’s Teddy’s club, and we dropped our new songs on an unsuspecting and packed dance-floor, which adored them to the point of singing along by the end, blissfully unaware that the architects of this fresh new sound stood before them, resplendent in leather and Unicorns.
The afterparty was very wavy once again. I totally didn’t fall off the balcony either. After the afterparty we went to the beach, which you can do in LA cos they have beaches. And cars with which to drive to them.
After the beach we slept a bit, then Wade went to DJ a wedding and I picked up some medicine from Gangster Vegan and went to Meltdown Comics, where a very helpful gentleman hit me off with Planetary, which I read in a bar over drinks whilst waiting for Mocky to turn up and tell me about the eighteen hundred songs he’s written this year.
Wade went AWOL after that wedding, and I had a bit of a panic as we were supposed to be attending the Breaking Bad finale that evening, and we had a Big Ass meeting scheduled for 2pm… but after some detective work put me in touch with the revenant party I discovered the meeting had been postponed, so I was free to run around Los Angeles with my camera shooting people in my legendary UUC shirts (which you’ll be able to cop SOON!). Liz Le Crunch even took me to THE SCIENTOLOGY CENTRE, where we were tailed by a Terminator looking dude on a bike in wrap around mirror shades who initially mistook for a cop and turned out to be genuine Scientology Security. He refused to be in any shots, and kicked us off the property, but couldn’t stop us swagging out on the pavement.
Moustache Pants took me to the Observatory, which was beautiful, and swaggy, and had a great view of the Hollywood Sign, along with many Great Towers, wreathed in Smog.
We also happened up on those wacky Scientologists’ HollyWood Centre, whilst sat outside the Alfred Hitchcock cafe and bar enjoying goujons and cocktails. “That’s where they had Katie Holmes locked up,” mused Mr Pants.
A few new members of the Unicorn Gang gathered later…
…and it was time for the partial purpose of the trip – watching the Breaking Bad finale in the Hollywood Cemetery with the cast, the crew, and a couple thousand fellow fanatics. But where was Wade? WADE WAS STILL AWOL! Then, just in the nick of time, at 6:30pm, right as the doors opened… Wade resurfaced. WE WERE GOING TO THE BALL!
Holy shit dudes what an incredible experience that turned out to be. Armed with a bag of 4Loco (the alcohol equivalent of meth, dug), we arrived so late we were literally at the back of the queue, but with our trademark cunning, guile, and brazen disregard for general decorum swagged ourselves a perfect position towards the front of the cemetery, right in the middle, on which to plonk our blanket and Cheetos. And 4loco. And asses. We then witnessed a very emotional Aaron Paul, in full yellow regalia introduce the proceedings, joined by Vince Gilligan, Bryan Cranston, RJ Mitte (Walt Jr.), Bob Odenkirk (Saul), Jonathan Banks (Mike), Giancarlo Esposito (Gus) and various cast and crew members. HEWELL probably got the loudest cheer. It was intense and electrifying, and after some celebratory shouting we were treated to a screening of the pilot, before the point of the thing… the final episode. Waves of energy tore across the cemetery like hurricane winds, people screamed, laughed, cheered, wept… and I got crazy drunk on 4loco. During the Jimmy Kimmel hosted Q and A I took a piss behind the RV.Afterwards we took pictures by the RV. It was awesome.
I was so joyous and fully waved afterwards that I forgot you can’t drink booze on the streets of LA, and we were tailed for our blocks by polices as I swigged 4loco, until Wade noticed and we ditched that shit in a bush. A block later we heard that terrible “wooop”, and a squad descended upon us like a pack of dogs, and it took all of my blustery british charm to avoid arrest. But avoid arrest I did, and later that night I was partying like it was 2002 in some crazed Hollywood Boulevard warehouse with Scottish Kenny and Gaslamp Killer and Kode9 and various lunatics, and later I attended not one, not two, but three increasingly strange after parties, and I eventually returned home at 7am, where a concerned Wadeyo had been unable to sleep all night worrying about my adventurous ass. At midday I was having a very exciting Meeting, a few hours later Wade and I were being driven to the airport by Margo Stilley, AKA Super Margo Cart, who cut through seven lanes of traffic like a fucking samurai sword at intense and crazy speeds while Vagner blared to get us to our planes on time.
When I got home my wife was still beautiful, and the sky was still the colour of corpses, but the bathroom was different, and so was my son. He rampages around the house like a little tsunami now, he stands of his own accord, like a monkey on a surfboard, he takes tentative steps and falls, bump, on his arse, and he laughs and laughs and laughs.
LET US RUMBLE.