Lacey’s new life in London is going to be problematic for certain individuals. Sheeee-it.
As you might have read, my ole pal Mr Lacey is back from his four year adventure in LA, the most of which he spent living in Compton. Yeah, that Compton.
In the first of a new series of completely improvised LACED FREESTYLES, we get a little glimpse into what the hell happened.
I am proud to present these special moments in time to you, my beloved readerlistener, and I hope that you enjoy them as I do!
Mr Lacey makes his return to wax on the first joint from ATD25, which will drop TODAY.
Oh, and let us know if there’s any questions you have for Lacey that you want answered in freestyle when he’s next in Don Studios (which will be very soon). HE IS THAT ABLE!
OMFG YOU GUYS! I WENT OUT ON FRIDAY NIGHT!
No, really. I did. Oh You Tee. In Old Street. Many reunions. And a mission to NOT GET DRUNK AND WRITE OFF THE WEEKEND. Could it be done?
Well, it started with the gym. Actually, it started with me rushing out the house late for the gym, then getting upset cos I hadn’t had time to put Jackie Chain’s Haze on my Z Phone, and that was what I wanted in my ears. Then I was like, HANG ON, I AM IN THE FUTURE, so I pulled it up on Youtube on my phone while I waited for the train to come. Then I downloaded it on the bus. It took less time to download than it took to write a tweet about how I was downloading it.
Yes. So I was in a good mood when I met Jeres outside the gym, and we did 300 reps on The Machines and 100 sit ups on the big bouncy balls, then we went back to Jeres’ gaff, where he made me fried haloumi baguette and I schooled John Doran from The Quietus on Lil B, swag, cooking, and Alabama hip-hop. I know my shit. He was appreciative, and I felt like a fountain of knowledge, which is a good feeling. Henrik Palmgen must feel great all day, that dude is like a little Swedish encyclopedia.
Oh, and Jeres has, typically for Jeres, become a filthy gym addict. He’s a member of two gyms now, and goes at lunchtime and in the evening. He is on some three month quest to become a HENCH MAN. Not a henchman, that wouldn’t suit him. He’s more supervillain material really.
Anyway. Serendipitous synchronicity occurred in the Old Blue Last, when I bumped into one of my new PR dudes after just finalising the deal with his boss a few hours earlier. We were in the Old Blue Last to see my old buddy Nik Moore, himself a press officer, one of the first people who kinda took me under his wing a bit and gave me advice and stuff when I came to London. He used to look after Motorhead, and always PRed mental rawk bands called things like Powerhawk. On this particular occasion the band he had playing was called Turbowolf. You couldn’t make it up. Or maybe you could. I sometimes think Nik Moore creates these outfits by sheer will. This lot were a swirling frenzy of tie-dyed eyeball vests and 70s moustaches. Their amp kept blowing up, but they crowdsurfed regardless. And this was the top room of a pub, one must doff one’s cap in such instances.
Never mind that though, guess who’s back?
Mister Lacey. Back. From his 4 year adventure in Los Angeles after a spectacular clusterfuck of a breakdown of the life he’d built for himself. He met us outside the pub with his trusty steed JCB in tow, and it was like he’d never left, bless his heart. He was wide eyed, head spinning like a top. “Where are all the hot Mexican chicks?” he kept stammering. “This is weird!”
Down the road, at Camp, the Southern Hospitality boys where hosting the second Player’s Ball, and they’d promised me they’d play that Jackie Chain record if I came. So off we went. Pixel was in Camden celebrating his birthday, so we hollered at that lot and lo they came too. So there was a big ass mob of us hanging out by the cloakroom, going apeshit every time a banger came on, which was roughly every 3 minutes.
The Players’ Ball is the club night I’ve been wanting in London as long as I can remember. They play those great big down South ANTHEMS I love so dearly. They play relatively obscure mixtape tracks. They play Waka Flocka Flame and Rick Ross and Cam’ron and UGK. Hell, they even dropped a lil’ Lil B in the early part of the night. I was in swag heaven. I spent a great deal of the night stood on a chair so I could talk to ten foot mountain beast Tego Seigel about rap music while I did my Don Dance (I shall have make one of those instructional videos for Don Dancing one of these days, but it basically involves working your elbows and your shoulders and rocking what Pixel calls “and edgy pout”). I did a lil’ bit of cooking too.
Yeah, we had a grand ole time. And guess what?
Two whiskey and cokes and one shot of something aniseedey.
I DID NOT GET DRUNK.
I did miss my stop reading about a Ja Rule video on my Z Phone (yeah, I know), necessitating a half hour walk home in the drizzle. But I enjoyed that.
Saturday I spent working my ass off till 5 am and listening to the new Yelawolf/Trae Tha Truth record on repeat.
Sunday saw the musical reunion of me, Lace, and Pix.
Looks like ATD25 is go. I wasn’t planning on that just yet, to tell you the truth. But according to this text file I’ve got on my desktop, I’m 5 songs deep already. DAMN!
PS: OK, you eagle eyed winners can buy that incredible and legendary ATD1 T shirt. YESSSSSSSSSSSSS!
I did this before Cool & Dre did their mad-basic version of Black Sabbath’s Mr Crowley, and you know what? Mine is way better. POW!