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>>djpaulette [back
to postcard archive menu] I don't know, where does the time go? I can't believe that it was in January / February when I last had anything important to say to you. Although, it's not for want of trying, nor is it that I had nothing to say, it's just that my time management skills have clearly flown out of the window and my will to work with them, whilst I am being simultaneously mesmerised by a new mantra. Seb. Seb. Seb. Thankfully, my Mum, Kitty and anyone close enough to me for me to bore them rigid with the details has told me that this is perfectly normal when you fall in love. So that makes it all alright. Kind of. I think. But none of this stops my concrete business head from psychologically beating my heart up with the idea that it would be much more OK if I could get the stars out of my brain for a tiny minute so that I could get some work done. Whilst I'm perfectly happy that the wind has blown and that my fluffy feelings might have stuck like this forever, I am also relieved to hear that it's not just an isolated personal affliction: my friends Fiona and Janet are similarly smitten. So at least there's something a little more optimistic in the air than the winds of war, these days! Roll on Paris, that's what I say! Anyway, on a similarly optimistic note, January saw the launch of my new and rather fabulous Easy Rider residency at AKA (the End's baby sister). Every Wednesday I'll be spinning a five-hour bar set of everything from hip-hop to funk to soul to house and whatever else takes my fancy. Those who came to the last few weeks' sessions saw me lay waste to a fair few people, including Rocky, Jade, Princess Julia, Gina and Chris White Noise, Channel 4's Jo-Ann Wallace and John 'Jellybean' Benitez (who was in town for meetings with the Rolling Stones): it's Time Out Recommended, so come and have a go if you think you're funky enough! The rest of the month saw me spreading a musical message of love and light across Europe. Despite Tony's absence (hope your knee has fully recovered, mate) Traffic at Carey's in Coventry was as mental as ever - it's like playing at a big family house party so you know that nothing less than rocking it was an option. The following Saturday, the Royal Noir party at Le Queen, Paris was nothing less than mind-blowing: the indoor pyrotechnics, metal dancers with angle grinders and a discerning and up for it crowd, made this my party of the month. Just as I was hitting my stride, the first lurgy of the year knocked me for six - a nasty bout of flu with an inner ear infection, tonsillitis and a touch of bronchitis meant that I went down like a skittle. Let's start the campaign for the remarketing of the handkerchief right now, since right when I thought I'd got rid of it (by giving it to Seb of course), someone else gave it back to me! Hasn't anyone ever heard that coughs and sneezes spread diseases, and that they should catch them in their handkerchief? Or stop snogging? When the lurgy finally sloped off, I was back in the saddle, maybe sitting back to front to start with, but at least I'd got back on my horse and rode the decks in such a stylish way that the crowd at LWB in Baden refused to go home. I felt sorry for my tour manager Felicia: I'd told her that I was ill but she didn't listen and before I'd finished spinning at LWB she was coming down with it as well. What can I say except sorry? Anyone for a spot of biochemical warfare? February blasted off with one of my regular guest spots - Thompson's Garage in Belfast. My friend Gary flew in from Manchester especially for the gig so we faked maturity for a laugh with a leisurely pre-club meal in the hotel's posh restaurant. Once Stephen Boyd, and my Belfast family (that means you, David and Jackie!) had had their wicked way with us, the next morning was a completely different story. On the plus side, at least I hadn't tried to serve drinks from the trouser press that was masquerading as a mini bar this time. Back in the UK, I embraced the disco nap like never before then awoke feeling refreshed, revived and ready to play for the chic and unique at Clandestino at AKA. As for the rest of the night, well the pictures explain far more than words ever could. I decided to work it and reverse it for Tribalism at the Ministry of Sound - all of a sudden it was photo-phones at dawn but I wasn't sure whether to feel fabulous or ridiculous, as my vintage silk haori (short Japanese jacket) had become a total scene-stealer. Not one for avoiding the spotlight, I hit the Soulsonic party at Rhythm Nation and Back To Basics at The End and by the end of the night I looked even more beamed in. Stayed out until 7am with my friend Colin (who was on really good form despite having the worst sense of direction of anyone I know), Kelvin Andrews (Soul Mekanik) and the usual Soulsonic suspects. And as if that wasn't enough of a party weekend, Colin and I iced the cake by spending Sunday stuffing our faces at Taro (an excellent and CHEAP Japanese restaurant on Brewer St), getting drunk at The Friendly Society (where Michael Jackson's 'Don't Stop Till You Get Enough' had everyone doing their own little Jackson dance) and the Village, then polishing it off with a bit of Vertigo for stylish house played by and for stylish Italians and their friends. My gigs headlining at The Face in Valencia and City Loud at Turnmills (supporting CJ Macintosh and Joey Negro) totally set the tone for my trip to Las Vegas. The gig at Venus (inside the ultra plush Venetian Hotel) was great especially after Jenny Au, the cool chick I met in Niketown when I was lost in Caesars Palace stayed true to her word and brought a posse of ten who stayed and partied until the end - but in other ways, the Las Vegas trip was an experience not to be repeated too soon, not least because my credit card couldn't take it and moreover I never want to get lost like that in Caesar's Palace again. I never thought I'd get out alive! In this mirage of a town built quite literally on sand and surrounded by even more sand: with all the false daylight and oxygen that's pumped into every building, the one thing you really do notice is that the time you spend there slips away like, yep, you guessed it, sand and there's nothing you can do to stop it doing just that until you leave! In truth, you become more aware of how illusory it is by day when the lights aren't on. Then it's like a huge, garish Christmas bauble - all the lights, tinsel and sparkly bits remain but what lies underneath and within has no appeal. And once you've got over the fact that every hotel is themed in Las Vegas central (to be fair, it takes a couple of days to stop marvelling at them) like the scaled down versions of New York, Paris, Venice (with its Guggenheim Museum concession), Bellagio with its ultra chic Gallery of Fine Art (excellent Warhol portraits exhibition), Prada, Gucci and Tiffany heavy mall, The Luxor's pyramid, Sphinx and its projection of the only light on earth visible from space; and where the great, the good and the glamorous in entertainment - from the Rat Pack (Sinatra, Dean Martin and Sammy Davis Jnr) to Elvis Presley in the past, to Gladys Knight, The Doobie Brothers, Cirque De Soleil, Celine Dion to Sheena Easton - have flocked to earn their slice of the dirty Vegas pie. It's all about money, Money, MONEY - the gambling never stops, the machines are never quiet and everything is geared to making you spend every penny you've ever and never earned before you leave. There are even slots in the airport - in departures and arrivals - which says it all really. If the gambling doesn't kill you, the sound of rustling shell suits, humming hearing aids and bad array of fashions most certainly will! Back in the real world, my radio show was on point throughout February and March with live guest mixes from Femi B (21st Century Soul and Discotec resident at AKA), Terry Farley (Faith and Junior and a few other things in between) who brought so many exclusives that I had to archive the show. DTPM's Miguel Pellitero (and Lee Freeman) held the fort for me when Las Vegas beckoned and before you could blink I was back on track with a smooth and soulful guest mix from Switzerland's finest, Aston Martinez (that's Boris to his Mum and Dad), some tough grooves from Fafa Monteco and a naughty noughties funk mix from Chicken Lips (Dean Meredith and Andrew Meecham - so yes, now you know what happened to Bizarre Inc). Judging the Ivor Novello Dance Award was as much fun this year as last, but I have been sworn to secrecy until the Award has been presented on May 22nd (as have my fellow panellists Tom Stephan and Jazzie B). It's a good one though, so watch the press for details. And when not mooning around and moping about Senb or sightseeing
with Seb (don't miss the fabulous Anish Kapoor exhibition at the Tate
Modern) and the Millenium Wheel and Bridge are always great value, So now, with my best Mad March Hare costume on, I am really looking forward to the next fortnight's madness - Paris is always a blast (even moreso now with Seb around), Montreal is so NOT tired, since Sona have put promoted this party so well that I'm actually scared to play there. And as for Miami - even though my San Diego Mom and Dad can't make it (which sucks big time), the idea of hanging out with Claudia, Pete Heller and Benjy B in the sun, sea and sand and with Consuela and Didi barking orders whilst I slave over a hot stove is enough to make me walk over there with bare feet - oh the deals I strike just to save a few pennies… Beyond this you can bet your bottom dollar that I'm going to keep on doing what I do best online on Ministry of Sound radio and as for the clubs you can catch me at: March 14th Ministry of Sound at Le Queen, Paris - headlining Discotec (The End) and Plan 9 (Brixton) dates tba. That's it for now. Despite cynical (read jealous) Nick's prophesy that my new love will burn out like a small piece of magnesium ribbon, I know I'll be back soon to haunt him with wedding news. Until then, I'm out of here like I stole something! [click here] for the Postcard
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